


lemon drops

by Sway



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - You've Got Mail Fusion, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Hate to Love, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Misunderstandings, Slow Build, Slow Burn, eventual Harvey Specter/Mike Ross
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2018-12-27 17:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12085947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sway/pseuds/Sway
Summary: Two business rivals who despise each other in real life unwittingly fall in love over social media..."You've Got Mail"-AUWhere Mike works for the Chelsea Law Clinic and has to go up against Harvey on a case.Where they've been exchanging messages on Instagram for months without knowing who the other person is.Where Harvey finds out he's been talking to Mike all along and has to convince him that he is not a bad person after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all... the biggest THANK YOU I can come up with to the extraordinary [sal-si-puedes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_si_puedes) for just about everything. For looking this over so that it was legible, for talking me off the ledge multiple times, for... just being awesome! *throws confetti*
> 
> That said... here it finally is... my "You've Got Mail" goes "Suits"... It's one of my favorite movies and yes, I cry every damn time. So it was a no-brainer for me to pick this prompt. But as it turned out, getting the story into 2017 was trickier than I thought. Especially getting Harvey on Instagram. How all of that came to be? You'll have to wait and see. 
> 
> There will be weekly updates *she said in the voice of desperate hope* Until then I hope you enjoy this little fic. 
> 
> The title is inspired by "Somewhere over the rainbow".
> 
> ETA - as we go along you might come across quotes from both the show and the movie. Some are left as they were, some are tweaked, some are put into other people's mouths... either which way, none of them are mine. No infringement is intended.

“Your dad really should let you stay in bed longer than six,” Mike says, fluffs up his pillow then lays back down again. 

“I dare you to tell him that,” Rachel replies from the bathroom.

“I would.”

“To his face.”

Mike relents. “Okay, maybe not. But you should. These early mornings are doing nothing for my beauty sleep.”

“RIght. I will tell him that I won’t be coming in before nine. Now that he’s finally stopped pestering me about not making Havard my first choice of law schools. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” She emerges from the bathroom, half-dressed in a cream-colored pencil dress. “Zip me up, please.”

Mike groans in protest but wills himself into a sitting position. “He’ll get over it. Columbia is an amazing school, too.”

“Not for him. And what if I don’t get in?”

“But you will. And if he comes up with it again, just remind him that your boyfriend who you adore very much doesn’t even have a law degree and is still earning his share.”

“I don’t know which one of your fun little facts is going to give him a heart-attack first.” Rachel leans down to steal a quick kiss. “See you tonight?”

“Inevitably.” Mike goes for another short peck before he flops down on the pillow again.

“Such a charmer,” is the last he hears Rachel say before the door to the apartment falls shut behind her.

Mike waits a few moments, listens to her heels muffled by the carpet on her way down the hall, the ding and swoosh of the elevator arriving and taking her away. When he’s sure she really has left, he reaches for his phone.

He has a text from Oliver from ten minutes ago, asking about the case the clinic is working on. He replies quickly, telling him not to fret and that they’ll talk about it as soon as Mike is at his desk. There’s also a reminder for his appointment with Nathan later that morning about a possible new hire. He’s not really interested in that but tells his phone to remind him again in an hour.

What he is interested in are the notifications on his Instagram account. He hasn’t checked them since he’s posted the latest picture last night. Ever since he’d woken up he’s been anxious to check but Rachel has banned phones and computers from the bed so he had refrained from it.

The little speech bubble announces 127 likes, 18 comments and one new follower by the name of ‘stonetrade35’.

He reads the comments, replies to two of them, then takes a long breath. On the exhale, he taps on the little ‘1’ in the top right hand corner. He even sits a little more upright as the message loads. He has caught himself doing that a few times now which is ridiculous, really. It’s just a message on social media and not a subpoena from the DOJ. But it might as well be, judging by the level of anxiety Mike feels whenever he get a message. Well, not just any message but one from a user named ‘50nyc’.

_[50nyc] Amazing shot again. I still can’t believe you’re just using your phone for these._

Mike grins at the message. It’s the usual praise he gets from this user. Today it even comes with a winking smiley.

_[brooklyn81] Thanks. Nothing a few tweaks to the settings won’t do. Or are you calling me a liar?_

He adds a winking smiley himself for good measure.

Mike waits a few minutes but there is no instant reply. As he waits, he scrolls lazily through the old messages he has exchanged with _50nyc_. 

More of them are just as brief as this last one, like they’re always written in a hurry. Somehow Mike imagines this person - he doesn’t know their gender since the profile doesn’t have any personal info - going through their feed while eating breakfast or on the subway, skimming the pics, leaving a like here and there, commenting on this and that. And sending a private message to Mike’s account.

It had started a few months ago when Mike had only had a few dozen shots on his account, most of which he’d taken on his way to and back from work. They were random images, really, with no artistic value (or so Mike thought), but he had gained quite a few followers once he’d gotten the hang of the proper use of hashtags.

And then, one day, the first message had popped up. It had been the first “real” private message among the ‘gain 1000 followers by following our account’-spam. It had only contained four words: “Great shots, amazing eye.”

Mike had answered right away with a ‘thank you’ and laughing smiley, not actually expecting a reply. He had gotten one a day later and ever since then, they had been exchanging messages on a regular basis. 

They never shared personal details - Mike kept his own identity abbreviated to an ominous ‘M’ - but whoever that person was, they didn’t hold back on the praise for Mike’s pictures.

A few weeks after that first contact, their conversation had veered away from Mike’s snapshots of New York City when he had posted a pictures of the food he’d had that night at a new Indian place near work. They had started talking about food and from there it had gone to movies and music.

Whoever 50nyc was, they were into expensive steakhouses but also didn’t say no to Asian take-out but found French restaurants to be pretentious and overpriced. They liked classic films and the original Star Trek. Their taste in music was eclectic and even Mike hadn’t heard of some of the artists mentioned.

_[50nyc] You don’t strike me as someone who lies._

Mike has to scroll forever to view the latest message, and it does make him smile, there’s also a little twinge inside of him. He has lied, blatantly cheated even, but he can’t and won’t talk about that on here. So he replies with as much truth as he can. 

_[brooklyn81] If only that was true._  
_[brooklyn81] But I never lie about my amazing Insta-skillz._  
_[brooklyn81] Gotta go now. Hands to kiss, babies to shake._

_[50nyc] Same here. Have fun._

Finally, Mike gets out of bed, hooks his phone up to the charger while he showers and shaves. He stashes a few files he’d taken home with him into his bag, throws his phone in as well and heads for the door. 

His bike is chained up in the hall and he jostles it out into the street. It’s not far to the law clinic, maybe ten minutes if the traffic lights change in his favor, and it’s way faster then taking the subway. And it allows him a few moments that are just his own, before he opens the door to the clinic and needs to be in lawyer-mode for the next ten hours.

 

*

“We’ve contacted all of the tenants of the 12th Block and we’ve set up the meeting for 7pm tonight at John’s. I guess the place is big enough to fit everybody.”

“And a good morning to you, too, Oliver,” Mike replies, handing him the coffee he’s picked up on the way while he props up his bike in the hallway - having had his last bike stolen from the stand outside makes this an uncomfortable necessity - and tries to put it as out of the way as possible.

“Yes, of course, good morning. Sorry.”

“No need. You’re excited about the case. That’s good. Just don’t get too excited yet. If all the tenants decide we should go for the settlement, we won’t have a case after all.” Mike gets behind his desk and strips out of his jacket. “Have we heard back from our claim to have the block be declared a local heritage site?”

“Not yet.” Oliver hands the cup back. “I can check back with the city council if you…”

“It’s your case, Oliver. You’re the lawyer. I’m only your advisor, remember?”

“I know but this is as much your case as it is mine.” He pauses for a moment. “I’ll call city council this afternoon.”

“Good idea.” Mike grins at him but it feels a bit fake. “I’ll make sure you got the drafts ready for tonight so the tenants can sign for representation right away.”

“I hope you’re right, Mike.”

Mike gives him a sympathetic smile and watches him go to his own desk as he fires up his computer. They both know it won’t take Mike more than an hour to pull up that draft and to have it pre-proofed and that’s just because he doesn’t type very fast.

He could be doing what Oliver is doing, preparing for the tenants’ meeting, trying to make the case that it’s worth fighting for the property instead of just signing it over to the real estate company that’ll have it torn down and replaced by a mini-mall. Instead he’s doing this, pulling up drafts, doing research on precedence and possible loopholes. He’s doing a paralegal’s work thanks to one stupid mistake. 

He loves his job, he is practicing law, but not in the way Oliver can. Not in a courtroom. Not in front of a judge or a jury. Only at his desk or - like tonight - as Oliver’s wingman.

Later that morning, he sits with Nathan over a pile of resumes for the new lawyer they need to hire. All of the candidates are very skilled and two of them are definitely overqualified and would cost the clinic too much money. At last, they decide on inviting one of two female applicants because they need more women on their team.

Mike steps out for lunch and grabs a coffee from the cart two blocks over. As he waits for this order, his phone dings with a new notification.

_[50nyc] If you ever wanted a good club sandwich…_

There’s a picture attached with the aforementioned dish. It doesn’t look like lunch, more like an abstract painting.

_[brooklyn81] Now look who’s taking shots of their food now. Welcome to the 21st century._  
_[brooklyn81] Is that even edible?_  
_[brooklyn81] Probably couldn’t even afford it._

_[50nyc] Make it a business lunch._

_[brooklyn81] Wish I could. But neither my company nor our customers have that kind of an expense account._

[50nyc] You’re in the wrong business, then.

_[brooklyn81] Ain’t that the truth._  
_[brooklyn81] Thanks for the tip, though._

Back at the clinic, Mike sits down with Oliver to go over the strategy of tonight’s meeting. He texts Rachel, telling her not to wait up for him which gets him a pouty smiley.

 

*

It’s only 6:30pm when John’s pub is packed to the rafters with tenants of the 12th Block. Most of them are residents but there’s the couple from the bakery, the owners of the organic grocery store, the thrift store, the antiquities story and the dry cleaners. They’re still waiting for the chef of the steakhouse who hurries in a few minutes to seven, apologizing profusely.

Oliver waits for them all to settle down before he starts his speech. He has queue cards because crowds still make him nervous but he does well, makes a good case, and even gets a little applause. 

Mike stays in the background so he won’t throw Oliver off but also to watch the crowd. They’re all agitated, scared to be thrown out of house and home with only a month’s notice, but that kind of fear might actually work in their favor as it might make them willing to put up a fight instead of just going for the settlement.

Of course, there’s a ton of questions and Mike and Oliver try to answer them as patiently as possible. Two of the residents immediately sign for legal representation by the clinic while the others all ask for some time to think about it. 

As most of them file out of the pub some stay behind, deep in discussion, just as desperate for a drink as Mike is.

“You did a great job, Oliver.” Mike pats him on the shoulder. 

Oliver smiles tiredly. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“Any time. Hey, do you want to grab a beer or something?”

“I would but I’m pretty beat. I’m going to head home.”

“Right. Anyway, I’m going to see you tomorrow then.”

They say their goodbyes and Mike stays behinds, orders himself a beer and sits down at the bar.

“That’s an interesting gather you got there.”

Mike turns toward the man who sits down next to him, nursing a glass of scotch. He’s wearing a suit that probably costs more than Mike makes in a month. Same goes for his immaculate haircut.

“Shame it might be the last of its kind,” Mike answers although he probably shouldn’t.

“How so?” the man asks, taking a sip from his drink.

“Chances are, they’re going to tear down this whole block.”

“That is a shame.”

Mike finds himself smiling wryly. “Yeah, redevelopment is going to be the death of places like this. Like what the city needs is more Wall Street yuppie bars. No offense.”

The guy smiles and that probably costs as much as the suit. “None taken.” He downs his scotch and gestures for another. “What do you think? Can I interest you in a game of pool? Because they don’t play that at Wall Street yuppie bars and you look like you could use a distraction.”

Mike mulls over that for a moment. “Sure, why not.” He orders another beer although he hasn’t finished his first one yet and they head over to the pool tables. “What are we playing for?”

“There’s only two things worth playing for. Pride and money,” the man replies as he strips out of jacket and starts rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“I’ve already lost too much pride in one day, so…” Mike reaches into his pocket. “These glorious ten dollars is all the cash I have.”

“All or nothing, then.” The man draws out of the same amount of money. “I feel like I shouldn’t be robbing you of your possessions without knowing your name.”

“Mike.”

“Harvey.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“So are we going to just stand here or are you going to set up the balls?” 

Harvey gives him another one of those grins. “I know you for five minutes and you’re already making ball-jokes?

Mike shrugs. “It’s that kind of a day.”

They play three games. Mike wins two and the last one is a bit of draw since neither of them is really paying attention to where the 8-ball should have gone.

Harvey insists on paying for their drinks and after the second try, Mike stops refusing. He does leave a $10 tip, though.

Outside, they hail for cabs - sharing one is pointless because they need to go into different directions - and Mike sticks his face into the cool air to sober up a little.

“A word of advice, Mike,” Harvey says as the first cab pulls up and Mike opens the door to get in. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your clients might be better off knowing that what you’re trying is a long shot. Promising them a big win is only going to make losing so much worse.”

Mike scoffs a little drunkenly, barely registering the words. “What are you? Some kind of lawyer?”

“Some of kind, yeah.”

“In that case, thanks for the tip.”

“Have a good night, Mike.”

 

*

Mike is sober when he gets home but still decides to brush his teeth first before he crawls into bed.

“How was your meeting?” Rachel asks, turning over to him.

“Not terrible.”

“What does that mean?”

“Two tenants already signed to be represented by us.” Mike buries his face into the pillow. “And I met a guy today?”

“Do I need to be jealous?”

He huffs a laugh. “He’s way out of my league.” Mike pauses. “He said something, though. I shouldn’t make promises to the clients when our chances are that slim. Was he right?”

Rachel remains quiet for a long moment. A little too long for Mike’s liking. “Maybe.”

He pushes himself up on his elbows. “You think?”

“I think you’re doing what you think is best for your clients. You fight for their homes, their livelihood. But if they do want to take the settlement and move… trying to make them stay might actually make things worse.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t try to stop the redevelopment?”

Rachel runs a hand through his hair. “I’m saying you need to listen to your clients want and need. That’s all.” She leans down to kiss him. “Now get some sleep. You can keep saving the world tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. AO3 mucked up my formatting and I didn't have time to fix it at work *whistles*

_[50nyc] Are you dead?_

Mike flinches at the whirr of his phone as it skids across his desk. He must have left it on vibrate before he’d buried himself in his files a few hours ago.

He does have to smile at the message as he pulls it up in the app

_[brooklyn81] I wish._   
_[brooklyn81] Just fucking busy._

He contemplates editing for profanities but decides against it.

_[50nyc] Language!_

_[brooklyn81] Sorry, not sorry. I’m swamped._

_[50nyc] Then don’t let me keep you. Just wanted to check in._

A bit of guilt tugs at Mike’s insides. He hadn’t posted anything in over a week because the case and the research for it had kept him more than busy. And now that his online friend (for lack of a better term) was checking in on him, he had nothing better to than to snap at them.

_[brooklyn81] I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. My job’s keeping me busy these days._

_[50nyc] I noticed._

_[brooklyn81] Yeah, as long as I don’t get insta-famous, I have to rely on my day-job for money_

_[50nyc] What do you do then?_

Mike stares at the message for a moment, contemplating his answer. His profession or that of his counterpart had never been part of their conversation, nor had he ever felt the need to bring it up.

_[brooklyn81] Sorry, I try to keep this as separate from my work as possible._

_[50nyc] Serial killer or porn star?_

_[brooklyn81] Bit of both. Seriously, though, it’s nothing secretive but…_

_[50nyc] Don’t worry. I get it._

_Somewhere deep down, Mike is relieved by the answer._

_[brooklyn81] Thought you might._

_[50nyc] You better get back to work then._   
_[50nyc] But I had to admit, my lunch breaks are getting boring without your pics._

Heat rushes into Mike’s face and he doesn’t know why.

_[brooklyn81] Now you do make it sound like I’m posting porn._

_[50nyc] Maybe I would enjoy that._   
_[50nyc] Kidding._   
_[50nyc] No, I’m not._   
_[50nyc] Maybe I am._   
_[50nyc] But since it’s not allowed by the T &Cs I’ll be stuck with your dull shots of Dumbo._   
_[50nyc] Have a good one._

Mike stares at his phone until it goes dark. He turns it back on and re-reads the messages. Something about them feels… odd but he can’t quite figure out what it is. They have a different tone than usual, seem more personal than usual and not just because _50nyc_ had taken a sudden interest in his job.

It takes Mike another read-through to finally understand what had just happened.

_50nyc_ \- whoever they are - are flirting with him. And he’s been flirting back.

Mike almost drops the phone at the realization. How did that happen? When did it happen? How long has it been going on? Have they always been flirting and Mike had just been dumb enough not to notice it? Had he been leading this person on?

A chill runs down his spine and his insides are doing this weird fluttery thing that has his head spinning.

“What the…”

“Mike, are you all right?” Of course, Oliver has to walk by just in the instant of Mike’s little meltdown. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Mike clears his throat, not trusting his voice. “Yeah, yeah, I’m… I’m good. Just a little exhausted, that’s all.”

“Maybe you should take a break. You look like shit, man.”

Mike nods in agreement. He waits until Oliver has returned to his desk until he gets up, grabs his bag and heads out of the office to get some air.

It takes him two blocks and an almost run-in with a bike messenger to catch his bearing again. And yet, when he returns to the office with an iced coffee and a bagel, he has a goofy grin on his face he can’t quite explain.

It falters, though, when he sees Oliver learning against his desk. 

“We have a problem,” he says without preamble. “Spielman Real Estate have changed their legal council. They’re now represented by Pearson Specter Litt. They just messaged us their invitation for a deposition.”

“What?” Mike snatches the paper from Oliver’s hand and reads it. “We really do have a problem.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t tell… by them only being one of the best law firms in the city.” Oliver tries to sounds snappy but it fails a bit. Instead he sounds scared. “It’s like David and Goliath, man. There’s no way we can win this case against them.”

Mike wants to agree but there is no point in deflating Oliver’s ego even more. “Well, if I’ve learned anything it’s that when a company changes legal council mid-case… it means the opposing party is onto something. We might actually get somewhere with our legal heritage claim.”

“Which we still haven’t heard back from although it’s been over a week.”

“That’s bureaucracy for you. Look, I know this seems scary but we can’t let them intimidate us just because they have the nicer view. They’re probably going to try to get us to settle just like the other lawyers did. We didn’t fold then and we won’t do it now, okay? We’ll go in there and we’ll listen to what they have to offer and then we go.”

Oliver laughs. It sounds sad. “You make it sound so easy, Mike.”

“Believe me, it’s not. It’s going to be hard and ugly but so far, the majority of the tenants wants to stay. And that’s what we’re fighting for.”

“Your word in god’s ear, man.”

Mike puts a hand on his shoulder. “Your ear is enough for now.”

 

*

Mike takes the scenic route home.

He takes his bike all the way down to Battery Park then back up South St until he reaches the Brooklyn Bridge. Since the Promenade too busy tonight to safely ride his bike on, he decides to push it and stop for the occasional shot of the skyline and the bridge itself. Once he reaches Brooklyn, he turns from Tillary to Jay St until he’s on the Manhattan Bridge Bicycle Path. After about half a mile, the Manhattan Bridge Overpass comes into view.

He’s been down here a few times on Sundays for the Brooklyn Flea but since Rachel thinks the vintage goods that are sold there don’t fit with her interior design, he’s skipped the market altogether.

Now he stops by the Pearl Street Triangle and chains his bike to one of the lamp posts. It doesn’t take him long to find a few motives to snap pictures of. The light plays beautifully along the bridge and the archway, casting deep shadows into the concave space beneath the overpass.

Mike takes about two dozen images, a few of which he deletes right there, until the sun sinks too far for him to get any more good quality shots. So he unlocks his bike and paddles the rest of the way to Williamsburg, grabbing some food from Pokito’s on the way.

Once he’s home, he texts Rachel, asking her how her family dinner goes, then settles on the couch with his food and a beer. Halfway through his katsu sando, he turns on the TV and stops at some comedy he’s never seen before. With the chopsticks in one hand, he awkwardly maneuvers through his phone and sorts through the photos he’s taken tonight. He deletes a few more because they’ve come out blurrier than expected, another one is too dark to be worked with. 

Finally he decides on a shot of the archway, the stone structure a nice contrast to the metal construct of the bridge above. He pulls the photo up in Instagram and begins fiddling with the settings. He’s not a big fan of the filters as they distort the image too much for his liking. Instead, he plays with the lighting, the coloring and contrast until they emphasize but never overpower the image.

Once he’s satisfied, he adds the description ‘DUMBO - took this for a boring friend’ and the accompanying hashtags. At least, he presses the little head-shaped button and tags _50nyc_ in the picture.

It doesn’t take long for the first likes and comments to come in. Especially users and businesses around the area take an interest in the shot, commenting on the great composition. While all that is flattering and Mike comments right back, he catches himself anxiously checking and re-checking the message function until finally a little red ‘1’ pops up.

_[50nyc] Boring, huh?_

Mike grins at the response.

_[brooklyn81] I knew I’d get you with that._

_[50nyc] Am I that easy?_

_[brooklyn81] Obviously._   
_[brooklyn81] Listen, I didn’t meant to be rude earlier. Work’s just been kicking my ass lately and I got some… well, let’s call them ‘disturbing’ news today that won’t make things any easier for the next couple of weeks._   
_[brooklyn81] Just so you know why I’m not posting as much as I used to._

_[50nyc] Don’t worry. I understand._   
_[50nyc] And I don’t worry about being rude. Lesser people say worse things to me on a daily basis._

_[brooklyn81] That’s oddly consoling._

_[50nyc] Ain’t it just?_   
_[50nyc] Look, what I’m saying is… you don’t have to stress yourself with the photos. At least not on my account._   
_[50nyc] If we talk, we talk. If not, that’s fine. Your job’s more important._   
_[50nyc] Don’t sweat it._

_[brooklyn81] Thanks, man._

Mike looks at his phone for a long moment, then adds:

_[brooklyn81] Are you?_

_[50nyc] A man?_   
_[50nyc] Let me check…_   
_[50nyc] Positive._

Mike grins at that. 

_[brooklyn81] Sorry, stupid question. Just thought I’d ask in case…_

He isn’t quite sure where he’s going with this but after the rather unsettling discovery this morning it seems like the right thing to ask. Which makes it all the more disconcerting. 

_[50nyc] In case I’m a serial killer?_

_[brooklyn81] Exactly._

Mike sends a winking smiley.

_[50nyc] All you need to do is ask._

The breath hitches in Mike’s throat at the message. It’s weird, really, those seven little words… For months they’ve been anonymously sharing things with one another, nothing awfully personal or even intimate, and that’s been it. Mike hasn’t even considered asking the guy to give away any facts about himself other than this likes or tastes and that has been fine. 

So why this sudden interest if he’s been talking to a man or a woman? And what is with that answer? Had the guy just been waiting for Mike for ask?

_[brooklyn81] I will take you up on that._   
_[brooklyn81] I do like this, though… the anonymity._

_[50nyc] Can I ask why?_

_[brooklyn81] Let’s put it this way. I’ve been judged a lot in my life. And I still am. And it’s nice to just share things with someone who doesn’t immediately roll their eyes at me._

_[50nyc] To be fair, I did roll my eye at you when you said you liked the new Star Wars._

_[brooklyn81] Dick._

_[50nyc] But I know what you mean.  
 _[50nyc] Listen, I’d love to chat some more but I have an important business dinner halfway across town in about an hour.__

__A twinge of disappointment tugs at Mike._ _

___[brooklyn81] Don’t let me keep you._ _ _

___[50nyc] Text me when you have time. And good luck with your work._ _ _

___[brooklyn81] Thanks. You, too._ _ _

__Mike gets a winking smiley as a response._ _

__

__*_ _

__“How does this not intimidate you, Mike?” Oliver stares up at the skyscraper, craning his neck to look up at the shiny glass front of the building._ _

__“Who says it doesn’t?” Mike smooths a hand over his tie, fidgeting a little nervously with the fabric. “But they don’t need to know that. Come on.” He nudges Oliver with his elbow._ _

__“Can we go over it one more time?”_ _

__“Oliver, our case is solid. We know what we want. All we got to do is to listen if they’re willing to give it to us.”_ _

__“Which they are not, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”_ _

__“Exactly. Let’s go.”_ _

__Truth be told, it does intimidate Mike but he won’t tell Oliver that. The young lawyer is already nervous enough and there isn’t a whole lot Mike can do about that._ _

__They take the elevator up to the 50th where a receptionists first makes them wait, then takes them to a conference room overlooking the lower part of Manhattan. It’s a beautiful sight which Mike usually only gets from the calendar on the kitchen wall at the office._ _

__They have to wait for a while which Mike knows is all part of the strategy. Finally, a scrawny and overworked looking kid shuffles into the room, carrying a pile of manila folders._ _

__“You must be the tenant representatives,” he greets them, shaking their hands after unloading his slippery cargo. “I’m Jimmy… I mean, James Clark. I’m Mr Specter’s associate. He’ll be here in a minute.”_ _

__Mike and Oliver make their introductions, settling down at the conference table. There’s some idle chit-chat neither of them is up to because it feels like stalling._ _

__“I see you already made friends with the enemy, Jimmy.”_ _

__Mike’s jaw drops. Almost literally. This can’t be happening._ _

__“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Mike says before he can stop himself. Oliver elbows him._ _

__It’s all there again. The shiny grey suit, this time with a waistcoat underneath. The tastefully patterned tie. That grin… It’s all like it has been a week ago at John’s._ _

__“I think we haven’t been properly introduced. Harvey Specter. Nice to meet you… again.” He says that last word with as much smugness as is humanly possible._ _

__“You two know each other?” Oliver asks, looking irritatedly between them._ _

__“If you’d excuse us for a minute.” Grabbing him by the arm, Mike drags Oliver out of the room and around one of the virtually non-existent corner of this place. “Listen, I don’t want you to freak out, okay?”_ _

__“When you say something like that, I am freaking out by default.”_ _

__“That guy… when we had the meeting at John’s, he showed up as we were wrapping up,” Mike explains. “I sat at the bar with him and… we had a few drinks.”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“I told you not to freak out. We had a few drinks and we played a few rounds of pool. We didn’t talk about the case but I’m sure he heard the last of what we were discussing with the clients. I didn’t think anything of it. I didn’t know who he was. This doesn’t change anything for us, okay?”_ _

__Oliver throws his hands up. “We might as well leave now, Mike. If he heard….”_ _

__“Then he heard. It doesn’t make a difference.” Mike reaches for his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’re going to go in there, you’ll handle the negotiations like we’ve discussed and I’m not going to say a word. If they ask about the meeting, I will tell them what happened so it’ll be on file and that’s it.”_ _

__“You better be right, Mike. If this tanks because you played pool with that guy…”_ _

__Mike's not-a-chance meeting doesn't come up. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he could swear that he and Harvey had never met before._ _

__Harvey is sleek, smooth and all the things used to describe teflon. He's polite, friendly even, if that is the right term when someone's offering you $50.000 for any tenant who agrees to move out, respectively more for the business owners._ _

__The problem, however, is that Oliver is thrown. He can handle himself, he's a great lawyer, but sometimes, when someone throws him a curveball, he starts to sway. And he doesn't recover._ _

__Unfortunately, Mike is the one who's thrown that curveball._ _

__They are just talking about the settlement for the antiquities store when Oliver draws a blank. He sits there, open-mouthed, his gaze shifting from Harvey to Jimmy and back to Harvey. Finally, it lands on Mike, looking for help._ _

__Mike hates this, hates that he's done this to his friend just because he had drinks with opposing counsel. He hates stepping in because it will make them look weak and unprepared and that’s the last thing they need right now._ _

__The problem with guys - lawyers - like Harvey is... They have no angle. They're slick, they never show their weak spots if they have any at all. They are virtually emotionless, nothing seems to affect them but their profits. They don't care about their clients or justice, they care only about their billables._ _

__Mike hates guys like that. He hates what they stand for and negotiating with them._ _

__If it were up to him, he'd get up and leave right now, but this is about their clients so he goes along with it._ _

__Of course, they don't reach a settlement. That's not what they came here for and everybody in the room knows that._ _

__"Well, gentlemen," Harvey says as they wrap up the meeting, "you take our offers to you clients and see what they have to say about it. I'm sure a lot of them don't make that kind of money in five years. But keep in mind... the longer you wait... those numbers go down."_ _

__"Are you threatening us?" Mike asks, eyes narrowed._ _

__"I don't have to. You know it's a good deal. All I'm given you is an incentive to take it. Let me know when you've made a decision."_ _

__With that, Harvey turns and leaves the conference room._ _

__Jimmy gives them an apologetic smile then hurries after his boss._ _

__"What a dick," Oliver exclaims, saying what Mike has been thinking for the past fortyfive minutes._ _

__"Yeah, he was a lot nicer when he had a few."_ _

__"Well, it's not that hard to be nicer than this. Maybe you should get him drunk."_ _

__For the first time today, Mike feels himself smile. "Not a bad idea."_ _

__They pack up and head for the bank of elevator._ _

__"Ah shit," Mike says. "I forgot something. Can you wait for me downstairs? I'll be right there."_ _

__"Yeah, sure. I'm going to call us a cab."_ _

__"Thanks."_ _

__Mike doesn't head for the conference room. At least not directly. Instead, he waits for Oliver to step into the elevator before he doubles back to reception's desk._ _

__"Excuse me, can you tell me where Harvey Specter's office is?"_ _

__The young woman gives him the directions and he makes his way along the line of equally sterile glass cubicles. The firm sure is nice, money can obviously buy a lot of hardwood furnishing and semi-interesting art prints but what it can do is give this place personality._ _

__Of course, Harvey has his private secretary guarding over his office. Just like her boss, she looks all smug as he approaches her._ _

__"You can go right in. He's expecting you."_ _

__It takes Mike by surprise but doesn't let it break it his stride. Instead he gives her his best grin. "Thank you."_ _

__Harvey's office is... well, okay, it's nice. It overlooks Manhattan on two sides, the windows sills are lined with displays of base- and basketballs and there’s a large shelf with an impressive record collection off to one side. There’s a leather couch that probably costs more than Mike’s entire furnishing and looks comfortable enough to spend an entire weekend on._ _

__Of course, Harvey’s desk is made of glass. Talk about sleekness with a touch of irony. If anything, that guy is as see-through as freshly cooked tar._ _

__Mike has no idea where that analogy comes from but it seems fitting given Harvey doesn’t even turn around to him when Mike enters the office. Instead he seems to marvel in his million dollar view._ _

__“You must be clairvoyant or something,” Mike says, hands in his pockets balled into fists._ _

__“How’d you figure that?” Now Harvey does turn around, that smug grin cemented on his face._ _

__“First you show up at our clients meeting which I don’t even want to know how you knew about. And now you have your ginger watchdog wave me through because you’ve been expecting me?”_ _

__“What did he just call me?” comes a voice from the speaker on Harvey’s phone._ _

__“It’s all right, Donna. Mr. Ross here is just angry with me and he’s taking it out on you.”_ _

__“Let me know if you need me to kick his ass.”_ _

__The grin on Harvey’s face spreads. “Down, girl.” He sits down at his desk, gesturing for Mike to sit down as well who declines the offer with a wave of his hand. “Now… I believe you’re here to talk like grown-ups.”_ _

__“No, I’m here to ask you what the fuck that was at the pub?”_ _

__“I was having a drink. Coincidentally at the same time as you had your little gathering.”_ _

__“Bullshit.”_ _

__Harvey holds up his hands in defeat. “Fine. Spielman Real Estate was contacted by the Lucas’s.”_ _

__“From Organized Organic.”_ _

__“Yes. They contacted them and told them about your meeting, trying to get a better deal. Which, frankly, is everything other than what you’re offering them. So when Spielman asked Pearson Specter Litt to represent them I went to have a look. And as far as I know it’s not illegal to have a drink at a pub.”_ _

__Mike scoffs. “You should have told me who you were.”_ _

__“And miss out on a great game of pool? No way.” Harvey’s mood sobers and for the first time that day, he looks like the guy again who Mike has met at John’s. “Look, I know you and your clinic want the best for your clients. Which is admirable, don’t get me wrong. But you’re fighting an uphill battle and you know it. We are making the better offer and given the way your friend Oliver handled the negotiations just now, I know for a fact that your clients will take it. Question is just when.”_ _

__“You don’t know that.”_ _

__“Yes, I do. Because you are here instead of him.”_ _

__“You think I’m here because I want to take your deal?” Mike can’t help the laugh. “Believe me, even if I could, I wouldn’t.”_ _

__“That’s right. You’re the miracle boy from 34th street who isn’t even a real lawyer.”_ _

__Mike straightens. He knew this would come up, it always does, but he hadn’t expect it to hurt like it just did. “You want to know why I came here? To see what kind of person we’re up against. But, as it turns out, you’re not a person. You’re just a suit, sitting in your ivory tower, looking for profits. To guys like you, it doesn’t matter who you hurt or how many people lose their home as long as you get your paycheck.”_ _

__It’s a bad call and Mike knows it. Antagonizing opposing counsel… never a good idea. Getting personal like that… even worse. But it has already gotten personal when he’d let Harvey pay for his drinks that evening, when Harvey pulled the “not a lawyer”-card on him just a moment ago._ _

__Breathing hard through his nose, Mike takes a step back from Harvey’s desk. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”_ _

__“No, it wasn’t.” Harvey gives him a level look Mike can’t read. “Because you just showed me the kind of person we are up against, too. Because clearly, you are the driving force behind this lawsuit. Someone who has ridiculously high values and a very skewed view of justice.”_ _

__“All I want for my clients is a fair deal.”_ _

__“So do I. Whether you believe it or not.”_ _

__“Yeah, I don’t. Because people like you… they don’t even know how to spell ‘fairness’. We will do what is best for our clients so I guess we’ll see you in court.”_ _

__With that, Mike turns and leaves the office._ _

__He needs to prepare Oliver for trial._ _


	3. Chapter 3

“What is it with you and your phone these days?”

“What?” Harvey has been looking out of the window of his office for the past twenty minutes. That is, when he hasn’t been checking his messages every other minute.

“You’ve been checking your phone like it’s going out of style. It’s even worse than when you bid on your dad’s tapes.” Donna leaves the files she’s brought on Harvey’s desk, then takes a seat in one of the chairs. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, Harvey. I’ve never seen you write that many text messages before. Come on, tell me. Who is she?” She wriggles her eyebrow at him. “Or he.”

Of course, Harvey has to give in. There is neither way nor use to try and pretend Donna isn’t onto something.

“They -” he lets the word linger like that “-are-” he can hardly say it because it’s stupid, really “-on Instagram.”

Donna doesn’t laugh. A lot. She fights the grin to the best of her abilities but has to clamp a hand over her mouth to cover it.

Harvey throws his hand up. “And you wonder why I didn’t tell you?”

“I’m sorry.” She sobers for a split-second. “It’s just so very… Meg Ryan of you.”

“Don’t you have paperclips to sort?”

“Seriously, I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect this, all right? Not from you, at least. Louis, yes, absolutely. But not from you.”

Harvey throws his hands up. “Which is exactly the reason why I didn’t tell you.”

“Well, then you should learn how to keep that boyish grin of yours in check whenever you look at your phone,” Donna shoots back. “I’m not making fun of you, Harvey, you know I wouldn’t. But you do know that you’ll have to tell me everything about it now.”

Finally, Harvey relents. He sits down at his desk, the glass plate a welcome barrier between them. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Liar. How did you-” she makes a vague gesture “-meet.”

“Remember when Marcus opened his restaurant? He got one of those social media nerds to set up his website and Twitter and… Instagram. And then he strong-armed me into setting up an account so he would have at least one follower. And then… one night-” Harvey tries to stall “-I searched for pictures of New York and came across their account.”

Donna eyes him. “Is New York a euphemism for porn?”

Harvey doesn’t answer that. “The pictures were amazing. So I sent them a message. It kinda… took off from there.”

“You keep saying ‘they’... but you’re no that PC.”

“I don’t know who I’m talking to. We’ve never exchanged personal details.”

“So it might be a guy.”

Harvey shrugs. “I’m quite sure it is but I never asked.”

Donna shifts a little closer to him, lowering her voice conspiritavely. “When’s the last time you…” She lets her words trail off.

“Not since Ted Phillips.”

“Oh, he was fine.

“Yes, he was.”

Of course, Donna’s inquisition doesn’t end there. “So… are you going meet this guy or what?”

Harvey doesn't answer right away. Instead, he twists and turns his phone in his hand like it’ll give him the answer he needs. ”I don’t know. Maybe. We never talked about it.”

"But you want to," Donna states.

"Why are you putting the thumbscrews on me?"

Her shoulders sag. "I want you to be happy, Harvey. Because when you're happy, I'm happy, and believe me you can be quite a diva when you're unhappy."

"I'm not a..." Harvey starts but she interrupted him.

"What I'm saying is... Things with Scottie didn't work out. Which... I didn't mind that much?! And Zoe had to leave which really was unfortunate. You may tell yourself you don't need anyone to be happy but... You deserve someone."

Harvey looks at her for a long moment then nods. He doesn't know what to say to that.

Until just now he hadn't even given it that much thought. He likes _brooklyn81_ , whoever he is. He likes texting with him, talking to him about everything and nothing. The guy has an amazing eye for details, finds angles of New York Harvey has never seen before, and which make him want to go out and find them in real life. But liking someone’s snapshot and talking about their mutual taste in music via direct message during lunch breaks and actually meeting them are two entirely different things.

Yanking him out of his revery, Harvey’s phone buzzes with a new incoming message. Almost a little eagerly, he reaches for the device.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue,” Donna says, rising. “Don’t screw this up.”

 

*

"Mike, we have a problem."

It doesn't need Oliver's words to know that their problem writes itself with a capital P. The young man's face says it all.

"The heritage claim?" Mike asks as he settles at his desk.

"Yeah, it fell through." Oliver shows him the letter from the city council.

Mike scans it briefly. Apparently the city block is a) not old enough (which is a technicality, Mike has double checked the data) and b) while housing valuable locales, their significance doesn't warrant for it to be declared a local heritage site.

"Damn it," Mike exclaims. It takes him a moment to collect himself. "Well, it was a long shot to begin with. We knew we couldn't rely on it as our only option."

"But we kinda did, didn't we?" Oliver sits down opposite Mike on the chair that's usually reserved for clients. "I mean, we... I told the tenants about it. Maybe we didn't rely on it but they do."

"I know, I know." The last thing they need is Oliver already getting nervous when they are not even close to trial yet. "Look, there might be another option we haven't explored yet but I need to do some research on that."

"Yeah, of course. But we better be quick. I think we're going to lose the dry cleaners and the Blairs from the antiquities store."

"They tell you that?"

"Not officially but the Lucas's hinted at it."

Mike rubs at his eyes, frustrated. "You should have lead with that. If we can't hold the businesses, we might not be able to hold the tenants."

"I know." Oliver rises. "Whatever your idea is, Mike, I'm gladly taking any chance."

It’s a subconscious decision, reaching for his phone as soon as Oliver turns to leave. Mike doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until he pulls up his Instagram app.

_[brooklyn81] Please tell me your day sucks as much as mine._

He hits send, then drops the phone on the desk and his head in his hands. He lets out a groan. This is not how it was supposed to go. He knew the case would be tricky and nerve wracking but right now, it’s over before it even started.

_[50nyc] It was until just now._

Heat flashes into Mike's face and he feels dizzy for a moment. It's not an entirely unwelcome sensation but it still feels a little.... strange.

_[brooklyn81] I take that as a compliment._

It's a lame reply and he knows it.

_[50nyc] Take it for whatever you like. It's the truth._  
_[50nyc] What's going on?_

Mike contemplates an answer. He can't get into details but he wants to talk to someone about it. Someone who might offer a neutral perspective, who - for lack of a better word - doesn't judge. Figuratively or literally.

_[brooklyn81] It'll have to wait until my lunch break. It's a bit of a long story._

_[50nyc] No rush. I have a meeting in ten._  
_[50nyc] No phones allowed at the grown-ups table... That sort of thing._

_[brooklyn81] Talk to you later, then._

He receives a winking smiley for a reply.

Lunch doesn’t happen for another four hours. Mostly because he and Oliver have to calm down a couple of very nervous tenants who have heard about the two businesses who might take the offered deal. It’s a test to both Mike’s patience and his stomach.

At last, he takes his break and walks over to Chelsea Market. He orders chicken quesadillas, chips and salsa, and sits down at an empty table along the main hallway. As he digs into his food, he pulls out his phone and opens his direct message.

_[brooklyn81] Sorry this took so long. Hope your meeting went well._

He goes through most of the quesadilla before he gets an answer.

_[50nyc] I’ve had worse._  
_[50nyc] Wanna tell me what's going with you?_  
_[50nyc] You don't have to if..._

_[brooklyn81] It's fine. I do want to talk about it but I have to be careful._

_[50nyc] So the drug cartel won't catch up with you?_

Mike grins at that.

_[brooklyn81] Something like that. It's complicated._

_[50nyc] What isn't?_

_[brooklyn81] Let's just say... A lot of people rely on me at work and I'm about to let them down._

_[50nyc] Anything I can do?_

Mike chews thoughtfully on the dried edge of the tortilla.

_[brooklyn81] I wish there was. I was convinced I knew what I was doing but it turns out, I don’t. And other people are going to pay for it._

He doesn’t get an answer for a few minutes.

_[50nyc] Aren’t you a little hard on yourself?_

[brooklyn81] I wish but it’s true. I thought I was doing the right thing but… I guess I might just be doing it for _myself rather than for them._

_[50nyc] Can you explain that?_

Mike could. He could explain in extensive detail. But of course, he isn't allowed to and it's not really a stranger's business even if this doesn't feel exactly strange anymore.

_[brooklyn81] I can't into details but... I've always wanted to help people, you know? Do something good for them? And now..._  
_[brooklyn81] I think I lost perspective. I kicked something off and now it's backfiring and I'm not so sure if I'm really doing it for them or just for my own ego._

_[50nyc] I understand._

_[brooklyn81] I'm really up against windmills on this. Whatever I'm trying, this guy is always a step ahead of me._

_[50nyc] There's a guy now?_

It comes with another winking smiley.

_[brooklyn81] Not like that._  
_[brooklyn81] VERY MUCH not like that if that's what you mean._

_[50nyc] I don't mean anything._  
_[50nyc] But are you pissed at him because he might have the smarter moves or at yourself for not seeing them coming?_

That's a good question. One of the few Mike hasn't asked himself yet.

_[brooklyn81] Bit of both, I guess._  
_[brooklyn81] Just makes me feel helpless, you know? Useless. And I hate that._

Mike starts on "Ever since my parents..." but deletes it again. He has given enough personal insight for one lunch break.

_[50nyc] Okay, so here's what I think..._  
_[50nyc] If you really thought you were just doing this for yourself, you wouldn’t be as worked up about it. You’re upset that you can’t help these people. That you may have given them false hope._  
_[50nyc] From what I understand, you’re trying the best you can. And just because you hit a few snags, you shouldn’t give up._  
_[50nyc] Go to the mattresses._

_[brooklyn81] Did you just quote The Godfather at me?_

_[50nyc] Obviously._  
_[50nyc] It’s only the greatest movie of all time._

_[brooklyn81] Obviously._  
_[brooklyn81] Although I would have pegged you for a western kind of guy._

_[50nyc] Why’s that?_

_[brooklyn81] I don’t know. Just something that just occurred to me._

_[50nyc] Well, you’re not entirely wrong._

Mike mulls over an answer for a moment, absently chewing on his straw.

_[brooklyn81] Let me guess… Butch Cassidy._

_[50nyc] Man’s a LEGEND!_

_[brooklyn81] I figured._

There is no reply for a long time and for some reason, it unsettles Mike a little. He knows he hasn’t but he still can’t shake off the feeling he’s said something wrong. While he waits, he disposes of his food wrappings and heads down the corridor to the 9th Avenue entrance.

_[50nyc] Sorry, I got an important call._  
_[50nyc] Listen, I’d love to talk more but my presence is required. I gotta go._  
_[50nyc] As for your work… You’re trying to do the right thing. If you fail, at least you didn’t go down without a fight._  
_[50nyc] Go to the mattresses._

_[brooklyn81] Thank you!_

For a moment, Mike hesitates, unsure whether or not he should send the next message. He catches himself looking up and down the street as if he’s about to do something forbidden and somebody might be watching him.

_[brooklyn81] It means a lot that you’re saying that._

He puffs out a breath, then shakes his head with a wry smile. This was getting ridiculous. He was getting ridiculous.

_[50nyc] Any time!_

Mike doesn’t read the next message until he gets home late that night and Rachel is already asleep on the couch.

 

*

The CEO of Spielman Real Estate is a jerk and Harvey doesn’t particularly like him but their billables are obscenely hefty, so Pearson Specter Litt had taken them on as a client.

Their in house counsel had been so surprised by the resilience of that little law clinic that they had felt the need to bring out the big guns in the form of Harvey Specter. It was a David versus Goliath situation but this particular David had a lot more spunk than anyone had been prepared to give them credit for.

“I was promised you’d get me quick results when we asked you to be our legal representation,” Sebastian Spielman says, shifting to the edge of his seat. “Instead we’re still talking about this ridiculous deal. I want this gone, Mr Specter. My construction crew needs to be on that site by the end of next month.”

Harvey tries to stay calm. “Mr. Spielman, you ask for legal representation and not for us to be hitmen.”

“Actually, I know a guy who knows a guy,” Louis chimes in at his side but it doesn’t help the situation.

“These things take time,” Harvey continues as if Louis hasn’t put that picture in his head. “We’re talking about twelve tenants and five businesses. Some of them have been in that building for most of their lives. They weren’t just going to roll over and take our deal just because you switched counsel. That’s not how it works.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying, Mr Specter. If I don’t start on this project in six weeks I’m going to lose millions of investments. Investments I’ve already passed on to architects, construction crews. If this goes south, you can handle my bankruptcy as well.”

This goes on for about half hour. Spielman is panicking which is a strange emotion on a highly successful businessman. It actually takes Louis’s knack for numbers to talk Spielman off the ledge.

While they go through the investment plan and the possible consequences a lost case might have on them, Harvey can’t help but pull out his phone. He has a reminder of another meeting later that afternoon and a few emails; one is from his brother with a picture attached showing his daughters at a little league game.

Harvey pulls up his Instagram account. No new messages. He is a little disappointed. The last conversation with _brooklyn81_ has left him wanting to know more about this guy, about what drove him to beat himself up over his work, about what his motivations are… who he is.

So as Louis goes over Spielman’s business plan, Harvey types a new message.

_[50nyc] Do you think we should meet?_


	4. Chapter 4

_Do you think we should meet?_

The words linger in the back of Mike’s mind and he can’t concentrate on his work. Whenever he’s just trying to immerse himself into the precedent case, his thoughts start to wander back to that last message. 

He still hasn’t replied to it. Actually, he’s been putting it off since last night. He had reread it about a dozen times until Rachel had asked him what that weird look on his face was about, and then he had stashed the phone into his bag and hadn’t touched it until the following morning.

There has been no new message since then. There is just this one looming in his inbox and every time he opens and reads it (which happens about every fifteen minutes), he feels heat rush into his face. It’s the strangest sensation and he can’t really make sense of it. He’s never had trouble replying to any of this guy’s texts, on the contrary, but now he can’t seem to find the right words. Mostly because he doesn’t know what he wants to answer.

_Do you think we should meet?_

What kind of question is that? It’s the kind of question you’d expect on the job when you’d rather negotiate in person than on the phone. Or when you’re trying to plan your best friend’s birthday party with three other people and you’re getting insane talking through text messages. 

Is it the kind of question you’d ask someone you’ve been chatting with on Instagram?

_Do you think we should meet?_

It sounds - if written words can sound... can they sound? - shy, almost insecure, like he isn’t sure they should, like he isn’t sure he wants it. Which doesn’t seem like _50nyc_ at all. From what Mike has gathered this guy is anything but shy or insecure. The rest of his texts are confident, almost bluntly so. He speaks his mind, doesn’t gloss things over and doesn’t do small talk. 

So what has changed?

_Do you think we should meet?_

Does Mike think they should meet?

Part of him wants to say yes. Yes, they should meet in person, should talk face to face. Mike is indeed curious as to who he’s been talking to even though they have successfully skirted the subject so far.

Another part of him shies away from it because he’s seen too many crime shows where something like that ends with Mike dead in the back of an alley.

And there’s that part that’s just… the part that lets color rise into his cheeks whenever Mike reads the message. The part that lets that stupid grin tug at the corners of his mouth. The part that lets his heart skip the tiniest beat and lets his mouth go dry.

_Do you think we should meet?_

Mike snaps out of his thoughts when Oliver shows up in front of his desk.

“Please tell me you’ve got the precedent all figured out while you’re sexting with your girlfriend?”

 

*

“Okay, what’s wrong now? What happened? Tell me.”

Donna waltzes into Harvey’s office, planting herself in front of his desk.

Harvey doesn’t look up from the page he’s been reading for the fifth time now and which has yet to make sense to him. Maybe it would if he wouldn’t be glancing at his phone every other paragraph.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you yelled at Jimmy this morning and for once it was uncalled for. I’m talking about how I’m only getting monosyllabic replies from you. All of which are very clear signs that something bad happened. And I’m guessing it’s got something to do with your pen pal.”

There is no point in stalling so Harvey drops his paperwork.

“I asked,” he says simply, hoping he doesn’t have to go into further detail.

“And?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I didn’t get a reply. That’s what happened. I asked if we should meet and I didn’t get a reply.”

Donna eyes him. “You do know that he might have a job and that he didn’t have time to reply yet?”

“He tells me when he’s busy.”

“So he’s too busy to tell you that he’s busy.” Donna has that tone she usually uses on annoying clients and associates. “You will get a reply. Even if he says no and proves himself to be an idiot, you’ll get an answer. If you’ve been chatting all this time, he’s not going to ghost you just like that.”

Harvey huffs a little laugh. “How do you know what ghosting is?”

“I’m me.” She shrugs. “I’m glad you asked him, though.”

It’s Harvey’s turn to shrug. He isn’t quite sure if he can agree with her. 

“Oh, there’s something else, though. You have a hearing in front of Judge Fredericks tomorrow at 10 about that Spielman thing.”

 

*

“Tomorrow at 10? That was fast.” Mike looks at Oliver in disbelieve.

“Tell me about it. I know you’ve already talked me through the precedent twice but I feel like I’m hearing it for the first time.” Oliver slumps down on the chair in front of Mike’s desk.

“Would you just relax? I’ve had hearings with Fredericks before. She’s cool. A little tough but fair. And if I know anything, I know that these guys from Pearson Specter Litt will be anything _but_ fair.”

“I’m still trying to see how that is a good thing.”

“You’ll understand when we take this thing home tomorrow.”

Oliver gives him a listless smile. “You know, when you talk like that, you could really pass for one of them.”

Mike sits back, one hand to his chest. “Wow, that hurt.” He breaks into a grin. “All right, let’s go over it one more time.”

 

*

Mike is the last to leave that night. He closes up shop when his phone buzzes. 

For a moment he is… well, yes, he is afraid it might be another message from _50nyc_ to ask again or why he hasn’t replied or to tell him he’s calling this whole thing off. He likes neither of the options.

When he pulls out his phone to check, he almost sighs in relief when he sees it’s a message from Rachel.

“Are you going to be coming home soon? I need to talk to you.”

Something about that text doesn’t sound right. It has this ominous feel to it that Mike hates, that falls into the same category as “You might want to sit to down for this” and “I have good news and bad news.” 

“Leaving now. Be there in a few,” he texts back and gets on his bike.

He finds Rachel sitting on the couch in her apartment, nursing a glass of wine. She looks distraught, like she might have cried not too long ago.

“Hey, what’s going on? What happened?” Mike drops his bag by the door and hurries to her side.

She takes a deep breath that hitches a little in the back of her throat. “I, uhm… a letter came today. From Columbia.”

Mike wants to tell her to just say it already but he refrains.

“I didn’t get in.”

“What?”

She shrugs for an answer. 

“Does it say why?”

“Of course not.”

Mike sits back a little. “Sorry, I didn’t…”

“Yeah, I know you never got a rejection letter because you’re the genius who can get into any law school,” she snaps at him, then her shoulders sag. “I’m sorry. That was…”

“No, you’re right.” Mike reaches for her hand. “I’m sorry about Columbia.”

“There is… something else.” She nods but pulls out of his grasp. “I got into another school..”

Mike arches an eyebrow. “That’s great. Which one? Yale? Princeton? Brown?”

Rachel looks at him for a long moment, then takes a deep breath. “Stanford.”

“Stanford? The California Stanford.”

She nods. “Yes.”

Mike’s face drops. “Wow.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t tell me you were applying to any West Coast schools.”

“I didn’t because I thought I only needed it as a fall back.”

Mike slowly nods. “And now that Columbia is off the list…”

“Mike, you knew as well as I did that getting into Columbia was a long shot. And you said you’d support me whatever decision I made.”

He scoffs and rises from the couch. “I did. But that was when I thought we would at least be in the same time zone.” He starts pacing the apartment. This is just what he has needed on top of the day he’s had. “I mean, I know Stanford is an amazing school but…”

“It’s in California.”

He looks at her for a long moment, sees the distress in her face. “So what are we going to do?”

She hesitates, fingering the rim of her glass before she puts it down on the table. “I need to decide what school is better for me before factoring in you or us or anything else.” 

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Mike crosses his arms over his chest, defiance bubbling up inside him.

“Well, the same way that I make all the important decisions in my life, by weighing the pros and cons of moving to California or staying here.”

“And where does not being with me rank on that list?“ He knows he’s not playing exactly fair.

“You're missing the point.” She sighs in frustration, getting up as well. “I am trying to figure out which school is best for me in a vacuum.” 

“No, you're missing the point. You're trying to figure out what is best for you as though I didn't exist, but I do.” 

“Mike-” 

“Rachel, I'm not saying that you have to stay at the East Coast. We're adults. We're together. At some point, you're going to have to factor that in too.”

She remains silent for a long time. “I’ve already looked into their class schedule and made a list of every flight from here to Northern California. I would get a lot of time off, and it's really not that far.”

It’s a slap in the face and a punch in the stomach all at once. “So I guess this means you've made your decision.” 

“Mike, this is not that easy for me, okay? I want to be with you. That's over here.” Rachel raises her left hand. “But I also need to decide where I want to go to school. That's over here.” She raises her right. ”I have to figure out how to put these two together so it feels right in here.” She places her hands over her heart. “But I need to be able to breathe to make this decision.”

“I'm not the one that's making it that you can't. Believe me, I am happy for. Stanford is an amazing school and I’d be lying if I said wasn’t jealous you’re getting this chance. But if you choose to go…”

She puts her fits on her hips. “So this is what this is about. You’re jealous that I got into a great law school when you got expelled from Harvard.”

“Excuse me?” Mike stares at her in disbelief.

“You know what… This is exactly the reason why I didn’t tell you. Ever since I passed the LSATs and started talking about applying to law schools, you’ve been nothing but resentful about it.”

“I have been what?” More disbelief. This is getting ridiculous.

“Oh so you would be totally fine with it when I become a lawyer?”

“Well, would you be fine with it when you’re becoming a lawyer and I keep working at the clinic? When I’m not one of the New York’s elite, only some low-level legal consultant working from a rattling desk in Chelsea.”

She scoffs in contempt. “Of course, I would.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Mike’s tone softens. “Rachel, you waited six months to introduce me to your parents and I saw your face when I told your dad I’ll never be a real lawyer. You were embarrassed.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to say to that. If you really think that…”

“Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you were never embarrassed by the fact I’m just a Harvard dropout.”

“You know what? I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.” Rachel throws her hands up. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but I’m not going to have this argument right now.”

“You won’t have to. You’re already said enough when you didn’t tell me about Stanford.”

Tears glisten in her eyes. “Get out, Mike. Just… get out.”

He only nods in response then picks up his bag and leaves.

Outside on the curb, he pulls out his phone.

_[brooklyn81] Yes, I think we should meet._


	5. Chapter 5

Mike is at the courthouse at 9am the following morning, feeling tired to the bone as if he hasn’t slept at all last night. He has been awake more than he has been asleep, tossing and turning, with his mind running a mile a minute. Which actually wasn’t uncommon for him, having his brain turn into overdrive when he should actually be getting some good night’s sleep, but this time it has been way worse.

Had he and Rachel broken up? Over a college application? Was that something grown-ups broke up over? Or had it been just a really ugly fight and they just need to some time to cool down and think things over? He couldn’t tell. No matter how many times he had turned the questions over in his mind, there was no answer.

And what about his not-yet-confirmed meeting with _50nyc_? He hasn’t heard back from him yet which is not helping with him being nervous and slightly jittery. None of which he can be in front of Oliver who doesn’t do all that well in court in the first place. 

Mike sits down in the first row behind the defendant’s table, smoothing his tie over for the twentieth time in the last five minutes. He keeps checking his phone but it just keeps on ticking down the time and won’t relieve his tension with a text message.

“I’m sorry. Am I late?” Oliver touches his shoulder and Mike nearly jumps out of his seat.

“No, there’s still plenty of time,” Mike says and it’s a bit of a lie to put them bother at ease. “You got everything you need?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Oliver sounds a little unconvinced but gives his best smile. “Let’s just hope the other side won’t pull any weird shit.”

Mike smiles wryly. “I’m sure they’ll try. We kind of steamrolled them with this court date. Guys like Harvey Specter hate not being in control.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Harvey appears behind them and somehow manages to be backlit like a freaking statue. He’s cut like it, too, in that annoyingly tailored suit and pristine hair. “But then, I don’t have to because I’m never out of control.”

Oliver all but flinches beside Mike who just rolls his eyes. In unison, they choose to ignore him.

The courtroom slowly fills with spectators and one or two members of the press who no doubt aim to write a big piece on how Spielman Real Estate crushes that lowly little law clinic.

“Seat’s yours, counselor,” Mike says, gesturing at the defendant’s table, nuding Oliver.

“Shame you can’t sit with me.” Olive rises and straightens his suit.

“You don’t need me as a security blanket, Oliver. You can handle this.”

Oliver doesn’t have time to object as the bailiff calls everyone to rise.

Judge Fredericks scans the crowd before she sits down in her seat. “Take a seat, gentlemen.” She gestures at the two lawyers. “So this is Spielman Real Estate vs. the tenants of the 12th Block, represented by the Chelsea Law Clinic. I understand that settlement talks have not been successful so let’s talk about it some more. Mr. Grady, your opening statement, please.”

“Yes, your Honor.” Oliver rises and buttons his jacket. He takes another look at his notes, then clears his throat. “I have lived in New York City my entire life and I have moved three times in my youth and then again when I went to law school.”

“Objection, your Honor. Is Mr Grady giving his opening statement or is he reciting his CV?” Harvey has risen from his chair.

“You don’t get to be cheeky yet, Mr. Specter. Let him finish.” Fredericks motions for him sit down again. “Mr. Grady, please continue.”

Just by the set of Oliver’s shoulders, Mike knows he’s rattled. Not good.

“My point is… I have lived here forever but there’s never been a place that I would call my home. The tenants of the 12th Block have that. They have a home. Just within a one or two walking minutes, they have literally everything they need in their lives, be it groceries, dry cleaning, a place to hang out and have a drink, rent control. But most of all, they have a community, a family even. A real and true home. And that’s what Spielman Real Estate is trying to take away from them. They want to relocate them, uproot them from the place they belong and just toss them wherever they are able to find affordable living space.” 

Oliver takes a sip from his drink when his voice starts to crack a little. 

“Your Honor, Spielman Real Estate may claim that their re-development plan is for the public benefit but the truth it, it’s not. The only thing it benefits is their bank accounts. The tenants of the 12th Block will be out of house and home. They will lose their family. So I don't care what they say. Your Honor, this is not a public benefit.”

There’s a moment of deafening silence in the room. Mike doesn’t even dare to breath. Of course, he has known what Oliver was going to say but he had never heard him speak like that. 

Of course, Harvey needs to make a show of getting up and buttoning his suit. “Your Honor, I'm touched. In fact, I want to go over there right now and put myself in escrow. But as for the Supreme Court decision in Kelo, public benefit is determined on a quantitative, not qualitative basis.” 

A little smile plays over Oliver’s face and Mike finds himself matching it. “Well, I'm glad you brought up Kelo, because we happen to have some quantitative evidence right here. Kelo was decided in 2005. Over ten years later and still, nothing had been built on this land. No jobs created, no taxes collected, no money made. Zero quantitative benefit. Just because they say it will be better doesn't mean it actually will be.” 

Harvey scoffs. “Even if that were true, my client has every right to do it. The state determines benefit, not the court, and until such time as the law is changed, you have no authority to affect the state's determination.” 

Oliver casts a quick glance over his shoulder and Mike nods as discreetly as he can. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Harvey is watching their little exchange with a bit of gleeful smile. Then Oliver turns back to the judge. “Your Honor, you can establish authority today.”

A sideways glance from Harvey and his smile widens even more, making it obvious what he thinks of their approach and its chances for being successful. “Your Honor, there's no basis for that. You have no choice but to uphold the established practice of eminent domain.” 

Judge Fredericks mulls about it for a long while, her rallying thoughts almost visible on her face. Once it even seems as though she wants to say something but then reigns herself back in. At least, she picks up the gavel, shaking her head in frustration. “I'm afraid opposing counsel is right. Demolition begins next month.”

The gavel comes down and the silence that follows is deafening.

Mike sits there, staring into the blank space that until a minute ago has occupied the seat of Judge Fredericks. He doesn’t breath until Oliver says his name for the third time and snaps Mike out of his numbness.

“Mike… what just happened?”

Mike looks up at him and there’s a burning sensation behind his eyes. “We lost, Oliver. That’s what happened.” A wry little laugh bursts from his lips and he rubs at the bridge of his nose. “What’s even worse is that we were right and Fredericks wanted to rule in our favor but couldn’t. So we lost.”

“But you said…”

“I know what I said,” Mike snaps at him, immediately feeling sorry about it. It’s not Oliver’s fault. He has done the best he could have done. “You did good, Oliver. I mean that. Sometimes the law just doesn’t work in the way of what’s actually right.”

“If you ever thought that, it’s no surprise you never became a lawyer.” Harvey has stepped through the swinging gate and is now standing next to Mike.

“Do you ever not gloat?” Mike shoots back at him. 

Harvey pretends to think about it in earnest. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you should go a little easy on the glee, then. Gives you a bad complexion.”

“Well, I’m glad you haven’t lost your lip as quickly as you’ve lost this case.” Harvey makes a pause that is half for the effect and half for changing the subject. “Let me know when you’ve informed your clients. Settlement offer’s still on the table.”

With that, he turns and leaves the courtroom.

“Why would he still offer a settlement when the judge just ruled in his favor?” Oliver looks incredulously between Mike and the closing door of the room. 

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

 

*

Mike has had some pretty shitty days in his life. 

Of course, the night his parents died would always been the worst thing he can think of. No brainer there. That one is shortly followed by Grammy’s passing almost two years ago, marking the day he has become truly orphaned and alone.

With a bit of a gap, he would probably name the moment he has sat in the dean’s office in college, being told he was expelled and that he wouldn’t become a lawyer. 

And following in the not too great a distance comes this day. The day after he has broken up with his girlfriend, the woman he has had his longest relationship with. The day he has lead Oliver into this disaster. The day he has lost this case, causing the 12th Block to be demolished within four weeks time.

So Mike stays behind long after the hearing has ending, sitting in the empty courtroom. 

Of course, he asks himself if the case had gone any differently if it had been him instead of Oliver. If he had been an actual lawyer instead of a legal aid.

It likely would have ended the same way.

Maybe he even would have been on the other side, on Harvey Specter’s side of the courtroom. Maybe he would have ended up as a corporate lawyer, representing clients like Spielman Real Estate instead of the little guy who couldn’t afford the big gun law firms.

The thought makes a shiver roll down his spine. 

No. He probably would have ended in exactly the same place, but maybe in Nathan’s office rather than his little not-a-cubicle.

Into the silence of the room rumples the buzz of Mike’s phone.

_[50nyc] Bowery Bar. 8pm._

Something thrums along Mike’s sense. 

_[brooklyn81] How will I know who you are? How will you know who I am?_

He has never typed anything this fast before.

_[50nyc] I can’t make you bring a red rose and a copy of Pride and Prejudice, can I?_

_[brooklyn81] Who am I? Meg Ryan?_

_[50nyc] I hope not. Have you seen her lately?_   
_[50nyc] Bring a camera._

_[brooklyn81] Good luck picking up on German tourists._

_[50nyc] So you’re a sandals and socks kind of guy. I like it._   
_[50nyc] So I see you tonight?_

Mike mulls over the answer he already knows. A little giddy smile creeps onto his face.

_[brooklyn81] You will._

 

*

“You’re meeting him? Tonight? Wow, that win really did something for your confidence.” Donna follows Harvey into his office from their walk and talk down the hall.

“Please, I don’t need to win in court to gain confidence. And can you speak any louder? I think Gretzky in accounting hasn’t heard you yet.”

“Right, because an overly confident Harvey Specter is afraid someone might hear about his dating life.”

“I am not afra…. Listen, don’t make a big deal out of this, alright? I’m going there, I’m having a drink, that’s it.”

With a broad grin, Donna sits in the chair in front of Harvey’s desk. “And then you’re falling madly in love with this guy and you ride off into the sunset.”

Harvey frowns at her. “Are you high?”

“High on love.” She drags out the word like she’s fifteen.

“I have created a monster.”

 

*

“What the hell… how do you know where I am?” Harvey stares incredulously at the redhead as Donna plants herself next to him. “And if you say ‘because I’m Donna’ I will push you in front of a cab.”

“No, you won’t. Because then you’ll have no one to go over there and take a look at this guy for you, possibly saving you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”

“I think I already did by telling you about this in the first place.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You need me as you wingwoman. I assume you and your mystery guy have agreed on some sort of bat signal?”

Reluctantly, Harvey tells her, trying to ignore her amused grin while at the same time keeping an eye on the bar slash restaurant on the opposite side of the street.

“Okay, give me five minutes.”

Before Harvey can say anything more or in fact actually push Donna in front of a cab, she squares her shoulders and struts across the street and into the outside seating area of the Bowery Bar.

Waiting on something as never been Harvey’s strong suit, be it test results in school, briefs being proofed by his associate or a jury with their vote. If he has to wait, even if he knows the outcome will be in his favor, he get antsy quickly, impatience taking the better of him.

“Well?” he tries to ask as neutral as possible but he knows that she knows that making him wait for six minutes and thirty-four seconds is not helpful at all.

“Well,” she mimics. “Interesting choice.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, don’t worry. He isn’t old. Or ugly. In fact, he’s a real cutey.”

“Donna,” he all but snaps at her like he sometimes does in the office. It takes him a moment to reign himself in. “Can you be a bit more specific?”

“Well, he’s got something boyish going on, like that bike messenger that used to come in. Dirty blond, blue eyes. In fact he reminds me of that kid from the law clinic.”

Harvey’s eyebrow goes up. “Mike Ross?”

“Yeah. You’d say he’s a cutey, wouldn’t you?”

“I guess. How should I know? Can we go back to this guy now?”

Donna clears her throat and Harvey can swear, she’s trying to hold back a grin. “Well, you might want to make up your mind about him real quick because this guy-” she makes a dramatic pause as she points at the restaurant “-is Mike Ross.”


	6. Chapter 6

Mike feels like an idiot. 

He’s been nursing his Brooklyn Lager for a good fifteen minutes now, not actually daring to drink it on his empty stomach. The waiter has already asked him twice if he wants to order something to eat but he has politely declined each offer, telling him that he’s still waiting for someone. He doesn’t tell him that he is too nervous to get anything down.

Which makes him feel even more like an idiot. 

He can’t even name the last time he has been this nervous. Well, maybe when he met Rachel’s parents for the first time but even then, his anxiety had been quickly replaced by annoyance about Robert Zane’s scrutiny and probing questions.

So now he’s sitting here, waiting on his… whatever they want to call it, restlessly bouncing his leg. Sometimes he hits the low table in front of him, making his camera skit across the tabletop. He readjusts it in this ridiculous manner that must look really stupid to the other patrons. But what if his… what doesn’t see their little sign and walks right past him? Mike can’t just openly stare at anyone who passes by him, hoping to send out an ‘I am _brooklyn81_ from instagram’ vibe and really, what is he even doing here?

Is this a date? Is this just two friends meeting for drinks? Are they friends without having met in person? What if they don’t click in person as much as they do in their messages? What if meeting face to face will ruin something that feels really good? What if it’s only really good in the confines of texts sent during lunch breaks?

“Please tell me you’re not wallowing? It’s really unbecoming.”

Mike freezes, his knee raised in mid-bounce. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t need to. He can imagine Harvey Specter’s smug smile without looking at him.

“You’re a miserable loser, aren’t you?” Harvey finally steps into his field of vision. He’s still wearing the same suit as earlier this day but he has lost the tie and has popped the top two buttons of his shirt. He almost looks human. “Mind if I sit?”

Before Mike can get a response out, Harvey sits down in the cushioned seat perpendicular to his, putting a glass of what must be whiskey down on the table.

“Can you please leave?” Mike says unnerved. 

“Are you drinking all by yourself?” Harvey asks amused.

“Not that it’s any of your business but… I’m expecting company. Company that isn’t you. So…” Mike gestures at the room at large. “There’s plenty of other people to annoy.”

Harvey glances at his watch. “It’s 8:20. So either you are going to meet at 8:30 and you’re pathetically early because you’re a wuss or your company was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago and you’re being stood up. Which is also pathetic.”

“Have you just sat down here to insult me or…”

“I’m not insulting you. I’m just stating the obvious.”

Mike scoffs. “Then go state it someplace else.” His shoulders sag a little because - and he will never admit this even under physical torture - Harvey has a point. “Harvey, please… it’s been a long day. You’ve had your fun in court. There’s no need to make a fool of me when it’s not even billable.”

For a long moment, Harvey looks at him which gives Mike the strangest sensation. “You think I’m making fun of you?” The questions sounds oddly sincere.

Mike only snorts indelicately for an answer, then picks up his beer and takes a long pull, drinking on an empty stomach be damned.

“I’m not.”

A beat passes between them. It’s long enough to make Mike feel uncomfortable and he fights the urge to shift in his seat and turn away from Harvey’s somewhat scrutinizing gaze.

“You’re taking pictures?” Harvey asks then, nodding at Mike’s camera.

“I dabble.” Mike takes another big swig from his beer. “Listen… we both know you’re not here to make small talk with me. You don’t care whether I’m taking bad selfies or if I’m getting a goddamn Felix Schoeller Award. So let’s not make each other even more miserable and just… just leave, okay?”

Once again, there’s no immediate comeback from Harvey. Which is odd and unnerving. And very much not like the person Mike has met at the firm or in the courtroom. He’s more like the guy he thought he had just stumbled into at the bar a few weeks back, who had - yes, he’s going to use that word - charmed him into playing pool and having a drink. 

“You don’t know me,” Harvey says finally. “You don’t know what I do or do not care for.”

Mike’s mouth twists into a wry smile. He knows he’s probably going too far but after the days he’s had, after most likely being stood up by someone he has been really looking forward to meet, he doesn’t care whether or not he’s being polite.

“You care for no one but yourself. And if you did care for anyone else, it would only be about how much cash you can make off them. So even if I did show you my photographs, you wouldn’t able to see the beauty in them anyway.”

“Well…” Harvey stands and buttons his suit jacket. He looks genuinely hurt, a reaction that doesn’t sit quite right with Mike. “I guess that’s my cue.” He picks up his glass and downs the remainder of his drink. “And you’re probably right. I may not know anything about art but I know one thing.” He pauses. Whether it’s to find the right words or for the effect Mike can’t tell. “If you were my date, I wouldn’t stand you up.”

That’s it.

He’s gone. 

And Mike can only stare after him as he makes a beeline for the exit, leaving his empty glass on the tray of a waitress he passes. 

Mike doesn’t know how long he’s been staring after him. It’s long enough to forget that he’s actually been waiting for someone else. He only snaps out of his revery when a waiter asks him for the third time if he wants something to eat. He only asks for the check.

 

*

Harvey wishes he had brought his coat when he steps out into the street. It feels colder than it has before and even the whiskey in his system doesn’t help.

He flags down a cab at the corner and gives the driver his address. The guy tries for some small talk but Harvey isn’t really listening. His mind is still stuck on the conversation he’s just had.

An hour ago, he had been excited to meet his - for lack of a better word - mystery “pen pal”. He had been looking forward to finally look into the eyes of the guy who captures New York so beautifully, who is funny and smart and sometimes a little lippy, who shares so many of Harvey’s interests, who manages to entertain him with something that might be trivial coming from somebody else.

The very same guy who has turned out to be Mike Ross, legal advisor of the Chelsea Law Clinic.

How could these two be one and the same guy? How could _brooklyn81_ be Mike Ross? 

As soon as Harvey gets home he pours himself another drink and downs it in one go. 

Mike Ross. 

For months Harvey has exchanged messages with a stranger. A stranger who had soon become someone Harvey would call a friend even if they had never met. Even through the briefest texts he had felt a connection between them, something that made him check his phone repeatedly for new messages, something that made him scroll through endless past exchanges to check up on a movie recommendation or restaurant choice.

To finally meet his guy in person had been something Harvey had meant to suggest for a while now. He had never gotten around to it for various reason. Being busy with work was one of them. The other wasn’t quite as simple. Well, it was but Harvey had put off thinking about it. 

He had been scared of it. 

And this meeting tonight had proven him right. 

Mike Ross.

Harvey would have been okay with someone who wasn’t really his type. He actually wasn’t as shallow as he sometimes let on because it was the easier route. He was more interested in this person’s brains and personality than anything else. He knew, deep down, that he would like whoever he would find at that bar.

What he hadn’t expected was to meet someone he not only knew in person but who actually hated his guts and made no effort to try and hide it.

There had been a split-second in which he had contemplated telling Mike who he was. That he was not just Harvey Specter, opposing counsel and in Mike’s eyes a glorified asshole, but actually _50nyc_. The guy who wrote texts during partner meetings, who loved Mike’s shots of Chelsea and Brooklyn, and who was looking for any new shot and text that came in through his Instagram. And that he only kept his account and the app because he wanted to keep talking to Mike.

Mike Ross.

The second Mike had set his eyes on him and his expression had darkened, Harvey had known he couldn’t expose himself. He knew that by withholding the truth from Mike, by making him believe that he was being stood up, he might ruin something that was really good. But telling him who he really was would have only made it so much worse. There was no way Mike would have stayed and talked to him, he had made that pretty clear.

The worst part was that Harvey couldn’t blame him. He understood where Mike came from, how their worlds were quite literally destined to clash. And he himself hadn’t really done anything to help the situation. He just hadn’t realized how much Mike despised him until just now. Hearing those words from Mike - especially in the context Mike had no idea of - had hurt more than Harvey had expected.

Mike Ross.

He and Mike Ross. 

Could it have worked? Could there have been a chance for something more? If there had been, that chance was blown now.

 

*

Mike isn’t sure what he feels when he gets home. 

He has checked his phone eleven times even before he had stepped into the subway and five more times on the way back to his apartment. 

Disappointment. Hurt. Anger.

Those come to mind. 

All of them directed at himself and at whoever he was supposed to meet tonight. 

At least one of those at the person he did meet instead.

Not only had he been stood up by a person he had been almost desperate to meet but he had his night ruined twice over by that smug bastard Harvey Specter. 

That was the only upside of their case being a bust. Not having to be in the same room with that person anymore, with his gloating and million dollar grin that could probably buy him anything.

For the eighteenth time Mike checks the inbox. Maybe his phone hadn’t been properly connected to the internet and messages hadn’t come truth. But now that he was connected to his wi-fi at home, his suspicion was confirmed. 

He had been stood up and _50nyc_ hasn’t even had the decency to cancel on him. And that little fact was even more of a disappointment.

 

*

“So, how did it go?”

Of course, Donna is in his office first thing in the morning. Harvey had actually been a little surprised that she hadn’t already waited for him in the lobby.

“It didn’t,” Harvey gives as an answer, one he has actually rehearsed a little bit to sound casual.

“Okay, tell me what happened. Leave nothing out. Unless it’s juicy than be especially specific.”

He scowls at her. “Are you _on_ something?”

“No, I just…”

“Listen, I mean it. Nothing happened.”

“But what did he say when he realised it was you?”

Harvey doesn’t answer right away and it’s enough to tip Donna off.

“You didn’t tell him.”

“No, I didn’t.” He sits down at his desk and starts his computer, trying his best ignore her inquiry.

“Why the hell not? You were the one who suggested this date.”

“It wasn’t a date. It was… Look, I have no idea what it was. Or what it could have been. What I do know is that there was no point in telling him. He made it clear that he doesn’t even want to talk to me, let alone - “ he makes a vague gesture “- so telling him the truth was not an option.”

Donna rounds the desk and leans against the broad windowsill. “And that’s just going to be it? You’ll ignore this ever happened? And what if he texts you again, asking where you were? Or where the person was he thought he’d meet.”

“I’ll tell him the truth. That it was a mistake. That communicating through direct messages is something for frat boys and guys too dumb to score on Grindr.”

“But you were not just looking to… score, were you?”

Harvey thinks about that for a long time. It’s way too early in the day to have this conversation and he is still a little hung over from one too many drinks.

“Harvey, I know you don’t like getting advice but… if you’re as serious about this guy as I think you are… you should tell him.”

“He won’t listen to me, Donna. There is no point…”

“And since when do you give up that easily?”


	7. Chapter 7

“What the hell happened to you?” Oliver’s voice is way too loud and even more cheerful than it should be. 

Mike squints up at him. “Too much to talk about it before the coffee kicks in. Why are you so goddamn happy?”

“Because of this. Came in first thing this morning.” Oliver presents him with a piece of paper, the letterhead of Pearson Specter Litt doing nothing for Mike’s headache.

“I don’t want to read this unless it’s them telling us Spielman won’t go forth the demolition after all,” Mike says as he, betraying his own words, starts to read. “They what?”

“Offer a settlement per tenant that exceeds the first one by thirty percent.”

“They won the case. They don’t need to offer us anything. Especially not more than their initial settlement.”

“I know. That’s what makes it even better.”

Mike hands back the letter. “I don’t trust this, Oliver. It’s too good to be true.”

Oliver’s face drops. “But what if it’s just that good? What if they really want to do something for these people instead of just kicking them out?”

“Have you met these lawyers?” 

“Mike, what is wrong with you? I get that you’re upset about losing the case but…”

Mike sighs and motions for Oliver to sit down. He doesn’t need the entire office to hear what he tells Oliver. And he tells him pretty much everything. Well, at least the Cliff Notes version of it. About Rachel and their break-up, about _50nyc_ and their… thing, about his blind date last night and being stood up, and how Harvey Specter had showed up instead, ruining an already pretty fucked up day.

“Right, I get it,” Oliver says once Mike finishes and kind of deflates in his seat. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off to… you know… sort things out.”

“Which is your way of saying: ‘get out of my way while I take this offer to the clients’,” Mike says and can’t help a tired smile.

“Pretty much. I know you’re concerned there might be a catch…”

“Nothing in life comes for free.”

“This didn’t come for free. It came with us losing the case.” Oliver pauses for a moment. “Your concerns have been heard, Mike, but I think I have to pull my ‘I am the lawyer’ card on this.”

Mike’s smile fades. “You’re right. I guess I’m just… there’s just something that rubs me wrong about this guy, you know? Guys like him, these smug lawyer with their money, who just laugh at people like us.” He pauses, then slowly nods. “But… I’m not going to stand in your way about this. These tenants deserve every penny so go give it to them.” 

“Thanks, Mike.”

“No, I have to thank you, Oliver. You did a great job on this, even if we lost.” Mike gets up from his chair. “And you’re right. I’m going to take some time off.” He pulls Oliver into a brief hug before he heads into Nathan’s office.

 

*

 

Mike takes the rest of the week off, then goes to Chelsea Market to grab some lunch at Friedman’s. He takes it to the High Line and sits down on one of the many benches along the refurbished train tracks.

For only the second time today, Mike checks his phone for new messages. He has stopped after the twenty-fifth time last night, sparing himself the disappointment of finding his screen empty. Again, he’s only greeted by one of his images shot on the Staten Island Ferry, showing the skyline of lower Manhattan at dusk.

He stashes his phone and digs into his chicken and bacon sandwich, trying to ignore the renewed sting of disappointment at the lack of messages. The herb fries are almost cold when he gets around to them. When he washes everything down with some peach iced tea - a combination that is not really recommendable - he reaches for his phone again.

Again, no messages. At least not one he is waiting for. There’s a text from Rachel, tell him they need to talk. He huffs in annoyance; she is not asking if he wants to talk, she tells him they _need_ to. Again, she has already made up her mind about something that concerns them both. He chooses to ignore the text for now.

Instead he composes a message of his own, putting into words something that’s up been bubbling up inside him since last night.

_[brooklyn81] I've been thinking all day about how to say this and I’m not sure if it really is what I want to say so… here goes nothing. Last night I went to meet you, and you weren't there. I wish I knew why. I felt like an idiot, sitting at that bar, waiting for someone who wouldn’t come. And as I waited, someone else showed up: a man who has made my professional life a misery lately. Maybe it was just that - he cost me that really big project at work I told you about - or maybe it was me being disappointed that you didn’t show but… I lashed out at him. Not physically, of course, but I said things that were totally uncalled for. I was cruel, and I'm never cruel. And even though I can hardly believe what I said mattered to this guy - to him, I’m probably just a bug to be crushed - but what if it did? We may be “enemies” in the workplace but there is no excuse for my behavior. Anyway, I so wanted to talk to you. I had a really bad day and really could have used a friend. I hope you have a good reason for not being there last night. I don’t mean to sound like some jealous girlfriend but you don't seem like the kind of person that would do something like that. The odd thing about this form of communication is you're more likely to talk about nothing than something. But I just want to say that all this ‘nothing’ has meant more to me than so many... somethings. So, thanks._

 

*

Mike gets high that night. 

He hasn’t gotten high in a couple of months and it’s probably a stupid thing to do so now but he won’t need to get into work for the next two days so he goes for it. He still has a small stash in his bathroom cabinet, barely enough to get a proper high and it’s already a bit stale but for now, it doesn’t matter. If it takes his mind off things only for a little bit, it’s worth it. 

Mike slumps down on his battered couch before he lits up. He has rationed out the weed to make two joints, and as he takes the first drag of the slim cigarette, his head rolls back against the cushions. He flips aimlessly through his TV channels, not really paying attention to any of the content, until he stops at what must be the millionth re-run of “Diff’rent Strokes.”

He catches himself grinning stupidly at one of the punchlines when there’s a knock on his door.

“Go away. I’m a genius, I don’t buy encyclopedias at the door.” Mike laughs at his own joke then starts coughing.

Another knock, more persistent this time. “Mike?” comes an all too familiar voice. “Mike Ross?”

Mike stares at the door for a long moment, trying to process this new information. It’s taking him a while. “Are you stalking me? Go away.”

“How old are you? 12? I need to talk to you. It’s about business.”

Mike rolls himself off the couch in the most undignified way and staggers to the door. “I don’t have any business with you.” He opens up, facing a Harvey Specter who does no look like business at all. Not when he’s just clad in chinos, t-shirt, henley and a canvas jacket. He actually looks like a person for a change. “What are you doing here?” 

Harvey doesn’t answer. Instead, he pushes his way into Mike’s apartment like he owns the place, leaving Mike staring at him a little dumbstruck. He would be a lot more dumbstruck if the weed hadn’t already settled around his sense.

“Are you watching ‘Diff'rent Strokes’?” Harvey gestures at the TV, barely hiding a grin.

“Uh, yeah, well, it's the touching story of a couple of orphans, so…” Why is he defending his choice of entertainment? And to this guy in particular?

“It's a nice building. How long ago was it condemned?” 

Finally, Mike snaps out of his dope-induced lethargy. “Oh, great, so did you come all the way over here just to criticize where I live, or…” 

“That's a side benefit.” Harvey continues his tour of Mike’s apartment. Usually that would take him about two minutes, there really isn’t that much to see, but for some reason, he takes his sweet time. Probably just to annoy the hell out of Mike which is - of course - working. 

He points at the rice paper painting on Mike’s kitchen table. “Nice panda.”

“Thank you.” Mike clears his throat which suddenly feels really fuzzy. “Grandmother. Christmas thing.” The memories help clear away the slight haze. “Look, as much fun as it is getting ridiculed by you, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Of course, Harvey ignores him. This shouldn’t come as a surprise to Mike. Worse even, Harvey leans down to pick up the half-smoked joint from the ashtray. “You getting high?”

Mike watches as he takes a tentative drag from the cigarette. That does come as a surprise.

“I know this guy who runs his business from a coffee cart near the firm. His stuff is much better than this,” Harvey says, the words cracking a little.

“Okay, that’s it. You don’t get to come here and insult me, my apartment or my drugs. In fact, I don’t even know what the fuck you’re doing here, so….” In the next futile attempt, Mike gestures at the door. 

“I came by your office today. They told me you took the rest of the week off so I came by to check on you.”

“Did you want to retract your offer?”

For a long moment, Harvey looks at him and that look doesn’t sit right with Mike. He wishes he could get another hit off that joint.

“Actually, I meant to make you an offer,” Harvey says. “I want you to handle a case for me. Every now and then, the firm takes pro bono cases but there’s a conflict of interest in this one. So I thought the clinic could take it on.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Is there any way you could get your head out of your ass and start believing that I don’t have an ulterior motive for everything?” Harvey half-leans against one of the bar stools at Mike’s kitchen table. “I want you to handle this because I think you and Oliver did a great job on this case, no matter if you lost or not. You did what you thought was best for your clients, and if the judge would’ve had any leeway on this, she would have ruled in your favor.”

The words take a moment to register with Mike. Maybe it’s the drugs, maybe it’s the very unlikeliness of Harvey Specter standing in his apartment, having a hit of his dope, paying him a compliment. Or maybe that is the drugs and Mike is just hallucinating.

“You’re a good lawyer, Mike. Even if you’re... not.”

Another moment passes before Mike conjures up a reply. “Thanks… I guess.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard. I’m not...”

Mike huffs. “Don’t ruin it.”

Harvey grins at that.

“Is there anything else?” Mike prods when an uncomfortable silence begins to settle between them. “I have a few skinny ties you can make fun of if…”

“I came here to apologize.”

This has Mike sitting down. Well, this has him perched a little wobbly on the armrest of his sofa but he cannot be standing up for this. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, you’re not that high.” Harvey stashes his hands into his pockets, buying some time. “What I said in the courtroom… it was uncalled for. Viable competition makes me…”

“A dick!?”

“I was going to go with unpleasant but…”

“You were a dick. Maybe you still are. Jury’s still out on that one.”

An amused smile plays around Harvey’s mouth and for some reason, Mike can’t takes his eyes off the little laugh lines forming there. He snaps out of that particularly disturbing revery, then Harvey leans down to pick up the joint again. 

“Did they show?” he asks, taking another drag.

“Who did what now?”

“The person you were waiting for last night. Did they ever show up?”

The hair at the back of Mike’s neck stands on end at the question and something in his chest pinches uncomfortably. He brushes that feeling off by walking to his fridge to grab a beer. “Not that it’s any of your business but… no. He didn’t.” He washes the remnants of the words down with a swig from his drink, the tastes of weed and cheap beer blend in his mouth. 

“He? I thought you were with Robert Zane’s daughter.” At Mike’s irritates glance, Harvey elaborates. “Manhattan is a village. If the daughter of one of New York’s top lawyers is dating the drop-out prodigy, people talk.”

“That’s… mildly disconcerting.” Mike takes what is left of the joint from Harvey’s hand, takes a deep drag - too deep, he needs to cough a little - then slumps down on the couch. “And also a thing of the past.”

“I would offer sympathies and even some advice but since you’re still undecided on the me being a dick part…”

Mike’s head feels a little fuzzy and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to focus. He isn’t quite sure what is happening right now, why he even considers telling Harvey who he has been waiting for. It’s the drugs, definitely the drugs, definitely _not_ the fact that the guy actually seems human tonight, even… nice. Just like he had the first night they had met.

“I had a blind date… or something like that,” he says before his mind clears enough to know better.

“Okay, I’m definitely too sober for the amount of soap in that opera. Mind if I…” Harvey points at the fridge.

Mike waves a hand. “If you must.” What the hell is he doing?

Harvey gets himself a beer, down halfs of it in one go, then maneuvers himself onto the bar stool again. Mike barely has time to call him a lightweight in his head before Harvey speaks again. “Now… details.”

“Again, none of your business but… you’re a hardass so I know you won’t let this go. I… met someone online and we agreed to finally meet in person and after everything that’s happened in the past couple of days, I was really looking forward to it but…” It comes as a run-on sentence but the little sting in his heart makes Mike stop. He shrugs, then shakes his head. 

“He stood you up.”

“And with no explanation.”

“Maybe he saw you with me and thought you were already spoken for.”

“RIght, that’s exactly what happened.” Mike eyes him dubiously, meeting Harvey’s curious gaze, before they both burst out laughing. “You are so full of yourself.”

“Hey, you’re the one with the Grindr date.”

“It was not a… how do you know what… nevermind. I don’t even want to know.” A shiver rolls down Mike’s spine. “It wasn’t a Grindr date, all right? We… met on Instagram.”

Harvey quirks an eyebrow at that and it’s enough to get another stifled laugh from Mike. “That’s… original.”

“Shut up. It was never meant to get… that far. It just... happened.”

“Wait… that’s why you had the camera, didn’t you? Was that your… sign?” Harvey makes air-quotes around the last word.

“I cannot believe I’m telling you about this.” Mike slaps a hand over his eyes, wishing he already had the second joint ready. “Sounds so stupid. Even when I’m high.”

“Definitely, yeah.” Harvey finishes his beer, then puts the bottle with enough force to draw Mike’s attention. “But you’re crazy about this guy.” It’s not a question.

Mike shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t -” he makes a vague gesture, then pauses “- yeah, I guess.”

Silence settles between them which would have been awkward if Mike had been sober. 

“It wasn’t personal, Mike,” Harvey says then, all of a sudden sounding very serious. “I did what I had to do to win this case. It’s nothing personal.”

Mike cranes his head to look at him, frowning both at Harvey’s tone and the unexpected change of subject. “What’s that even supposed to mean? You know, I am so sick of that. All that means is that it wasn't personal to you. But it was personal to me.” He rises from the couch and it’s not even half as smooth as he means it to be. “It is personal to a lot of people. And what's so wrong with things being personal, anyway?”

Harvey doesn’t say anything to that. He doesn’t even look at Mike.

At his silence, Mike throws his hands up in frustration. The casual atmosphere between them has evaporated almost as soon as it had been built, has quite literally gone up in smoke. Suddenly, he feels very sober again. Too sober. 

He sighs. “Whatever else anything is, it should begin by being personal. Otherwise, whatever we’re doing, whatever we’re trying to win a case… it means nothing.” 

“I should go,” Harvey says then and he manages getting off that stool look so fucking graceful. He already has his hand on the door handle when he turns around again. “That guy is pretty lucky. You should meet with him again.”

“I hardly think I need advice from…”

“Don’t make this personal, Mike,” Harvey cuts him off. “If the clinic wants to take that case, let me know.” He pauses before he steps out into the hallway. “Take care of yourself. And do yourself a favor. Get some better weed.”


	8. Chapter 8

"Mike, you have a visitor," Cynthia, their desk clerk, says when Mike picks up the phone.

"Can you not make it sound like 'gentleman caller'?" Mike tucks the receiver between his shoulder and his ear when a pile of printouts starts slipping from his desk.

"Oh I'm not so sure about that."

Before Mike gets out the "what the hell..." that's on his mind, he understands what the hell she is talking about.

"So that's where the magic happens."

"Are you stalking me?" Mike looks up at Harvey who - as per usual - looks all smug and sleek in his charcoal suit. "I do know how to file a restraining order."

"Relax, Evan Brockovich, I just came to see how that pro bono was going that I pawned off on you."

"You said there was a conflict of interest," Mike says, frowning irritatedly when Harvey sits down in front of his desk.

"So you do remember?"

Mike points a finger at his temple. "Genius brain."

"And I thought the drugs..." Harvey doesn't finish the sentence when Mike holds up a hand.

"Do you want to get me fired?"

Harvey’s shoulders sag. "You can stop believing I have a hidden agenda at any time, you know?"

"Could." Mike mulls over it for a second simple for the effect. "Won't. What are you really up to?"

"Lunch."

"Excuse me?"

"I want to grab some lunch. Wanna come with?"

Mike frowns. "What about your precious pro bono?"

Harvey shrugs. "It's in good hands, isn't it?"

"I haven't looked at it yet." Which is a lie. Mike had looked at it first thing this morning when he had returned to work.

It wasn't a complicated case, at least not as nerve-wrecking as the last one. It would require some legwork and about two days worth of research (if Mike did it himself) but it was manageable and right up the clinic's alley.

"That's how you thank me?" Harvey asks.

Mike only glowers at him for an answer. Miraculously, that makes Harvey flash him a grin.

"So, how about lunch?"

Mike does go to lunch with him. He tells him it's to make him stop asking and leave. Which is also a bit of a lie because Mike's stomach has been growling for over an hour.

They head for Chelsea Market again which Harvey claims is too pretentious even for him but he's quick to decide he wants Pad Mee from Chelsea Thai. Mike orders himself some Pumpkin Red Curry; it’s not his favorite but it has enough kick to it so that he might survive this impromptu lunch whatamacallit.

"Why are you being nice?" Mike asks as they find a place to sit and eat.

"You think this is an act?" Harvey seems genuinely hurt by the assumption.

"I don't know. Is it?" Mike challenges.

"That chip on your shoulder must be really heavy," Harvey shoots back. "What happened to you that you're so..."

"Realistic?" Mike cuts him off. "People... Lawyers like you happened to me. I don't trust them as far as I could throw them."

Harvey gives him a quick once-over. "And you throw what? The whole nine yards?"

That hangs between them for a moment and yes, Mike is trying to fight a smile. The guy gives a good banter, he'll admit that (not out loud, he's not an idiot).

"Don't think I don't understand where you're coming from," Harvey says then.

"You do not know where I'm coming from."

"But-" Harvey clearly ignores what Mike has said "-like I've said, it wasn't personal. That case had nothing to do with you or me. It was business."

Mike scoffs. "And where do you come from that you feel nothing for these people?"

"Who says I don't?"

Mike gives him a challenging look, then makes a vague gesture up and down Harvey's body.

"Good thing you're not prejudiced." Harvey gives him a level look, then resumes eating.

"So what is the story behind the great Harvey Specter?"

"Now that's a story for another day."

Mike snorts indelicately. "And you're playing mysterious, too."

"What about you?" Harvey challenges. "What's your deal? What's the story behind the boy wonder?"

"Boy wonder? Is that the best you can do?" Mike takes a sip from his drink, washing down a bite of his food. "You heard the story."

"Not from you."

Mike hesitates for a moment, trying to ignore Harvey's genuinely sincere gaze. "Short version.... I got kicked out of college for selling test results to someone else. Only that it wasn't just anybody. It was the dean's daughter."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"So you really are a genius." It's not a question.

Mike shrugs. He hates that word even though he uses it himself. Half the times it's mockery, the other half is self-preservation. "I don't know. It's just something that I do."

Harvey shakes his head. "Knitting is 'just something that you do'."

"Okay, so I took the Bar.”

"How?"

There they are again. The parlour trick.

"Take your phone, pull up a law text, anything. Read me something."

Harvey takes the challenge. Of course he does. Everybody does.

He pulls out his phone and does some tapping and scrolling. He grins the grin of someone who thinks he’s unbeatable. "Civil liability associated with agency is based on several factors--"

Mike snorts a little laugh. “Barbri legal handbook. Classic…. It should go something like… and by _like_ I mean verbatim… Including the deviation of the agent from his path, the reasonable inference of agency on behalf of the plaintiff, and the nature of the damages themselves.”

Harvey looks at him, trying to conceal something Mike likes to identify as genuine surprise. “How did you know that?”

“I learned it... when I studied... for the Bar,” Mike replies like Harvey has asked the dumbest question. Well...

“Okay, hotshot, my turn now. I'm gonna show you what a Harvard attorney can do. Take out your phone. Pick a topic.” 

Mike does. Of course he won’t be the one backing off from a challenge either. At least not one he knows he is going to win. He fiddles with his phone, then straightens in his seat, the shift in postures equivalent to him cracking his fingers. “Stock option backdating.”

Harvey gives it a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Although backdating options is legal, violations arise related to disclosures under IRC section 409A.” 

“You forgot about Sarbanes-Oxley,” Mike cuts in. 

“The statute of limitations renders Sarbanes-Oxley moot post 2007.” 

“Not if you can find actions to cover up the violation as established in the sixth circuit, may 2008.” 

“That's impressive. For someone who can read off a screen.”

Mike shows him his phone. “I’m posting to Instagram.” He lets that sink in for the effect. “Sorry. If you want to beat me, you're gonna have to do it at something else.”

“Like actual court.”

That falls between them, landing heavily on thin ice.

Harvey clears his throat after an awkward beat. “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“Just when you think…” Mike’s words trail off and he takes a sip from his drink. 

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

Another beat passes between them. A beat in which Mike doesn’t look at Harvey and Harvey studies him curiously.

Harvey is also the first to break the silence. “How can you know all that? And verbatim.”

Mike shrugs “I told you. I like to read. And once I read something, I understand it. And once I understand it, I never forget it.”

“Why take the bar?”

“This dickhead I used to call my friend bet me I couldn't pass it without going to law school.” A rueful smile twists Mike’s lips. “When I was in college, it was my dream to be a lawyer. I needed some money, and Trevor convinced me to memorize that math test and to sell it. I lost my scholarship, I got kicked out of school, I... I got knocked into a different life. And I have been wishing for a way back ever since.” 

Mike shrugs like none of this means anything but it does and that’s the worst part of it. Whenever he tells his story, he tries to make it as clinical as possible when in reality it pains him every time. 

“How did you end up at the clinic?”

“What is this? 20 Questions?”

Harvey rolls his eyes at him. “You don’t need to be so goddamn defiant. It’s really unbecoming. I’m just curious. You said it yourself. You’re a genius. You could have gone to another college, could have started over…”

Mike cuts him off. “Where? In Jersey?” He’s tired of having this conversation again. “Like I said, I lost my scholarship. I couldn’t afford to pay for college. And… well, let’s just say there’s a few things Trevor and I did that won’t sit well with the Character and Fitness Committee.”

“He seems like a really nice guy.”

“He was my best friend.”

“He was an anchor. And an asshole.”

“Anyway…” The worst thing that Harvey is right but Mike won’t give him the satisfaction to admit that. “I worked as a bike messenger and one day I ended up delivering something to the clinic. I overheard a conversation about an immigration case they were working on and…”

“And now we’re here.”

Mike snorts. “No, now _I’m_ here. You don’t get to hitchhike on my story.”

Harvey flashes him a smile at that. “Well, you’re not going to believe me when I say this but… it’s a shame you didn’t become a lawyer. We’re hiring exclusively from Harvard and you would’ve fit right in at the firm.”

“I doubt that. I mean I would have kicked ass but…”

Mike’s phone pings, cutting him off. He snatches it up embarrassingly quickly to check the display but his excitement sobers quickly when he sees the sender. Without drawing up the message, he puts the phone down again. 

“Not your guy then?” Harvey asks. He looks a little too smug for Mike’s liking.

"Girlfri... Ex-girlfriend."

“Did you take that one?” Harvey nods at the phone which now displays Mike’s picture of Dumbo on the lock screen. 

“Yeah. Took it for... “ Mike’s words trail off. He cannot talk to Harvey about this. Again.

"Does she know?"

Mike looks at him for a long moment. He contemplates telling Harvey that no, Rachel does not know because there is nothing _to_ know but without the drugs in his system it feels entirely too personal. It would be the same as admitting Harvey isn't even the worst person to talk to and Mike cannot have that.

"Thanks for lunch, Harvey," he says instead, balls up his napkin and tosses it into the few remnants of his food.

"Why so anticlimactic," Harvey comments and a dark flicker ghosts across his face as if he's genuinely hurt by Mike's answer.

"Well, your hour of truth is up, so..."

“Same time next week?”

 

*

 

Harvey paces his condo when he gets home. He has already done a fair amount of pacing at work until Donna had told him off. 

She had tried to get more intel on his lunch with Mike but this time he hadn't given in. It was something he had to make sense of himself before taking any further action. 

So when he returns home that night, he pours himself a drink and tries to think.

Today's lunch hadn't been terrible all things considered. In fact, Harvey had been surprised when Mike had agreed to it in the first place. 

The food had been well worth the walk over from the firm. Their conversation had been light-hearted even though it had taken a more personal route than Harvey would have expected. Not that he did mind. 

Mike's story was fascinating, almost too good to be true. It was the stuff they make movies and TV shows about. 

Of course, Harvey had heard about it before but it had always sounded more like an urban myth. None of the versions had ever included the real reason behind Mike dropping out of college or how he did what he did.

Harvey reaches for his phone and scrolls through the last dozen or so messages. He has done so multiple times since he had found out it was Mike he had been talking to.

So many things had fallen into place since then. Now all the cryptic wording made sense when Mike had been referred to the 12th Block case. Everything else had gained context, too. How he was able to throw around movie and literature quotes like it was nothing. How he could recall the exact wording of a menu of a restaurant he had gone to.

He was, in fact, a genius.

It would be incredibly self-serving to think that it was the reason why he and Harvey got along so well. At least when they spoke through instant messages. In real life… well, progress had been made the week before and again today but it was still nothing compared to the conversation they had in their little anonymous bubble. 

There, everything was easy. Out here, not so much. 

Mike still hated him. Or at least he firmly held on to the antipathy toward Harvey which was probably the toughest case Harvey had yet to work on. 

Before he gets on with that, there is something Harvey needs to do first, though. 

He - as in _50nyc_ \- needs to apologize to Mike for standing him up. Something he has been putting off for too long already. But judging from Mike’s eager reaction to check his phone for new messages, he knows he has to do it now. Otherwise Mike would come to hate not only him as the real person but also his online persona. 

 

*

Mike doesn't pull up Rachel’s text until he gets home. He feels like he can’t deal with it being sober, so he grabs a beer from his fridge first. 

It’s only two lines.

_“I’m leaving for Stanford next week. We should talk.”_

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he leaves the phone to charge and takes a long shower. 

When he returns, he has another message. One he reads immediately.

_[50nyc] M, I can’t tell what happened the other night but I hope you can forgive me for standing you up. I know I screwed up. And even worse, I put you in a situation that caused you additional pain. We might not “know” each other but I’m sure that what you said to that person… he had it coming. You don’t strike me as someone who lashes out at people who don’t provoke and deserve it. And everyone says things they regret when they’re worried or stressed. You were expecting to see someone you trusted and met the enemy instead. The fault is mine. Someday I'll explain everything. Meanwhile, I'm still here. Talk to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While we're a little more than halfway through with this, I'd like to take a moment to thank you guys for all the lovely comments. It means so very much to me! Like really... I can't thank you enough!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this should come with one of those "previously on Lemon Drop" bits... 
> 
> I'm terribly sorry about the delay. I meant to get back to posting this a few weeks ago but real life and other projects kind of interfered. Thanks everyone for hanging in there with/for me. I hope you still enjoy this little adventure with me :)

Mike has chosen a corner table at the Starbucks a block down from Rachel's apartment.

He checks his phone every now and then, half-hoping she might still cancel but he has no such luck. If anything, she makes him wait for ten minutes and he can at least drink half his latte in peace.

When she finally enters the coffee shop, Rachel gives him a thin smile and a wave, then gets in line to get a beverage herself. Something-something-soy-non-fat Mike could never order quite right, genius brain or no.

The hug they exchange when she comes over is awkward and stiff, their brief exchange polite but stilted.

"So.... Next week...," Mike cuts to the chase.

"Yeah, I... I flew over there last week to check out the campus and to look for apartments and found another law student who wants to share her apartment, so...."

That surprises Mike. "You want to share? You hate sharing."

She shrugs. "It's probably just going to be temporary to get me started."

"Well, let's hope she puts the mugs on the correct side of the sink."

Rachel sets her mug down with more force than needed. "You're still going on about that?"

"Well, you made such a big of it that it almost came with a PowerPoint presentation."

"That is so petty, I'm not even…”

"I'm sorry, Rachel. You're right, that was petty. Guess I'm... I don't know what I am exactly. All this is..."

"I know." Rachel tries to reach for his hand but he pulls back. "Well, what I wanted to talk about... I'm going to keep the apartment for a while until I decide what to do with it, if I'm going to sublet it or sell it or..."

"Rachel..."

"I thought you might want to pick up your stuff."

Mike had expected something like that but it still takes him aback. It takes him a moment to find the right answer. If there is one. “So that’s just it, then?”

She scoff. “Well, you didn’t seem too adamant to work on this, so…”

Mike bites his lips, hands tightening around his cup. “Rachel, you decided this for us when you applied to Stanford without even so much as telling me about it. I never really had a say in this.”

“You’re right,” she admits, much to Mike’s surprise. “I should have told you. And I’m really sorry I didn’t. I know it seems ridiculous but I really thought I wasn’t going need to tell about it because I wasn’t going to get in.”

“But we’re… we were… as a couple you’re supposed to tell each other these things. It’s not that I don’t get not wanting to jinx it but…”

“You could come with me,” Rachel interjects.

That takes Mike even more by surprise. “What?”

“Well, you said it yourself. You’re not a member of the Bar. You’re not obligated to work in New York. You can come with me and work at a law clinic in San Jose or San Francisco.”

The strange thing is… she’s right. Even stranger… Mike hasn’t thought of this until just now. It is a possibility, and given his abilities not an improbable one either. He’s not bound to the city like he would be if he actually was a lawyer. He can find work as a legal aid anywhere he likes. And yet, packing up his belongings and moving to the Bay Area… it hasn’t even occurred to him.

“You’re not going to, are you?” Rachel says out loud what he’s concluding.

“Rachel, it… I can’t just up and leave. I could probably find another place to work there but… I love working for this clinic. Right here. In this city. That’s my home.” There’s something else one his mind, something he realizes just now. “Besides, there’s something…” He takes a deep breath. “There’s someone else.”

Rachel looks at him, her face ashen. He can’t blame her. “You’ve…”

“It’s nothing like that,” he interrupts before utters the assumptions her brain as obviously already made. “It really isn’t. I haven’t… it’s nothing like that.”

“Can you explain that?” She tries to reign in her voice. “Because it does sound like something to me.”

“The night you told me you were going to Stanford, you and I… we said some things that… they were true. Don’t get me wrong, I do love you…”

“But?”

“But… I think we never were… I think we both liked the fantasy of us more than the reality. Because the reality is that I’ll always be the college drop-out. Maybe not to you but at least your family. And I can’t stand the thought that you’d need to feel ashamed for me. And I guess you were right, too. I guess I’d always be a little resentful that you were getting your degree and I wasn’t.” Another deep breath, this one almost of relief as things start to fall into place. “So I think that we tried to hold on to this… fairy tale… that probably never would have worked out.”

The silence between them is deafening.

“So…,” Rachel begins and her voice cracking a little. “You never really…”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that it’s nothing we should build something long-distance when it’s not even really working in close quarters.”

“And that… someone…”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I… you have to believe that I never… nothing has happened. And I don’t know if it ever will. But I’d like to know if there could be something.”

It’s shabby and Mike knows it. He knows that something _has_ happened. Maybe not in the way that Rachel thinks, maybe not in the way that actually qualifies as “something” but there is no way he can explain this to her. Not now and probably not ever. Not when he can’t quite explain it himself.

“Well, in that case…” There’s tears in her eyes now. “You can come by and pick your stuff at any time. Maybe you can send me a text or something before… And when you’re done you can just leave your keys.”

“Rachel, I’m… I know you’re not going to believe me but… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” When she looks him in the eyes, her gaze is solid again. “The thing is… everything you just said… you’re right. That’s the worse part of it.” She raises from her seat, leaving her half-empty cup. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

Mike gets up as well. “I guess it is.”

Rachel hugs him then, short but tightly. “Whoever that someone is… I hope it works out. For the both of you.”

Mike doesn’t reply to that. There is no right reply for it anyway. “Well you let me know when you get settles in Stanford?”

“Of course.”

They both know it’s a lie but they need it.

 

*

 

_[brooklyn81] Hello! You said "talk to me" so here I am... Talking. I still don't understand what happened the other day. Of course you don't have to tell me what kept you. I only wished you had the courtesy to tell me you weren't going to make it. Maybe it wouldn't make me feel so.... I don't even know what I'm feeling. And that's the problem._

_[brooklyn81] I never told you this before because it never really mattered but now it kind of does. Today I broke up with my girlfriend. No, that's not right. We've been broken up for a little while - before we agreed to meet! - but today it became... final. She's moving to California for college and I'm going to pick up my stuff tomorrow. I won't go into too much detail here but... I told her about you. Well, not really because I don't know a whole lot about you but... I told her. And that it's you who keeps me here instead of moving to California with her. I still don't know what this is, what it could be, if it's ever going to be anything, but I want to find out._

Five minutes pass.

_[brooklyn81] I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to be so... much. But I had to say it. And right now you're the only person I can talk to._

Harvey reads the messages. Reads them again.

He's on his second whiskey now but it doesn't help. If anything it makes the need even stronger to call Ray or even take a cab and drive over to Brooklyn right now.

Those three messages... They're the best and the worst Mike - no _brooklyn81_ \- has sent him yet.

The best because Harvey is relieved Rachel is out of the picture. It's not personal (he really needs to overthink that concept) but he wouldn't have done anything if Mike had still been with her. It was a matter of principle.

The best because Mike has stayed. For him.

The worst because Mike has stayed for him, not knowing he was putting his faith in the wrong person.

Mike needed to know, had to know. He deserved to know the truth.

It was simple, really. All Harvey had to do was tell him. And if Mike didn't believe him, if he would think Harvey was making fun of him, it could easily be proven.

But what then?

Mike would hate him. Even more than he already did. For lying to him, for not telling him who was, for ruining something Mike was putting his hopes in, something that could have been good.

Mike would hate him. For being Harvey Specter. And for being _50nyc_.

It would break his heart and Harvey couldn't let that happen.

So he pours himself another drink - he doesn't touch it yet, this one is just for courage - and reaches for his phone.

< i>[50nyc] Don't apologize. At least not to me. I'm the one who owes you an apology.

< i>[50nyc] I'm sorry to hear about your girlfriend. To hear that you stayed for me... part of me wants to tell you to not be an idiot and go after her. The other is a little more selfish than that. I'm glad you stayed. Even though I don't think I deserve it after what I've done to you.

Harvey pushes the send button and wants to continue in a new message but before he gets to it, he gets a message of his own.

_[brooklyn81] Don't flatter yourself. It's not all about you._

That feels like a hit square across the jaw but Harvey understands. Even more so because he can actually hear Mike's voice and how he says it.

_[ 50nyc] Of course, it's not._

_[brooklyn81] Sorry, it's been... a day._

_[50nyc] I can imagine. Anything I can do?_

There's a long pause. Long enough for Harvey to reach for that third drink after all.

_[brooklyn81] Will we meet? At all? Don't get me wrong. I don't mean to sound so needy. I just… I don’t know._

It’s moments like this when Harvey really loathes this kind of communication. He can’t cut in, can’t interrupt like he would in real life. He can only sit there and be presented with Mike’s full train of thoughts, as derailed as it is right now.

It also forces him to choose his words even more carefully now. He can’t give himself away, not at this point. He has this somewhat schizophrenic touch to it. He can’t write to Mike like he’s Harvey Specter. But then it’s been the only way he’s ever spoken to him even through the messages, even hidden by his screen name.

The only thing working in his favour is probably that Mike would never expect him, Harvey, to be the person he’s actually writing to. He makes it easy for Harvey to practically hide in plain sight.

_[50nyc] We should meet. And we WILL meet._  
 _[50nyc] But I'm in the middle of a project that needs…_

There is no right word for this.

_[50nyc] Tweaking._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the delay. I usually post this on Wednesdays after my Spanish class. But... I didn't have Spanish this week so I kinda brain-farted on this...

“So, are you stalking me now?” Mike doesn’t need to turn around to recognize the voice. “Because that’s kind of flattering in a creepy way.”

“Do you ever get tired of being so full of yourself?” Now Mike does turn around to find Harvey standing behind him outside of Pearson Specter Litt, hands stashed into his pockets, looking a little smug as always.

“Can’t say I do. What are you doing here?”

“Jimmy wanted to talk about the pro bono you pawned off on us. So that you’d actually avoid getting dick deep into that conflict of interest.”

“So you’re working behind my back now?”

Mike scoffs. “You might want to talk to your associate about that.”

“Maybe I might.”

A beat passes between them.

“I was going to get some coffee.” Harvey asks then, pointing at the coffee cart at the end of the block.

“Is that the coffee cart guy or the coffee cart guy?” Mike wraps air quotes around the last three words. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Harvey gives him a cheeky grin. “Wanna get some?”

“Coffee or coffee?” Mike air quotes again. 

“I know you think you’re funny but that joke was dead the first time around.”

“You laughed.”

“Only because I don’t want to add to the list of things you hold against me.” Harvey gestures for him to follow. “Come on, lippy.”

Mike rolls his eyes but does follow after all. He could actually kill for some coffee right now. “So we’re on a nickname basis now?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Harvey replies as they reach the coffee cart. “Go ahead, coffee’s on me. Wouldn’t want to take away from your bus money.”

Mike gives him a side glance, then places his order. Cafe latte with an extra shot of espresso. He only adds the shot for that petty bit of indulgence. 

While Harvey orders, Mike finds a place to sit along the plaza on the side of the building. He takes out his phone and randomly snaps a few images. Nothing he really means to post but he doesn’t want to miss a new motive either. 

Harvey has gotten himself a bagel along with this coffee and Mike wants to make a comment about his intake of carbs but refrains from it. There’s something more important on his mind. 

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Buying you a two dollar coffee?” Harvey places his cup down to unwrap the bagel, then he takes a bite.

“Why are you being nice in one moment and then in the next, you’re a dick again.”

Harvey shrugs. “Maybe I’m always a dick.”

Mike looks at him for a moment, smiling wryly more to himself than at Harvey. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but… I don’t think you are.”

Harvey looks at him. “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me just fine.”

“What made you change your mind?”

Mike isn’t really sure how to answer that one. “The settlement. You didn’t have to up the offer when you’d already won the case. Why did you?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s not. I told you, the judge would have ruled in your favor if she could have. Because it would have been the right thing to do.” Harvey pauses for a moment to take another bite. “You need to understand that just because people are my clients, it doesn’t mean that I agree with everything they’re doing.”

“But you still take them on as your clients. You’re name partner. You could choose not to represent them.”

“Then they’d find somebody else to do it. Do you really think I wanted these people to lose the homes? Or the businesses to go under? No. Do I think that Spielmann is a dick? Fuck, yes. But he is still my client and it’s my job to do what is best for them.” Harvey washes the bite down with a drink from his coffee. “Look, I know you’ve got this whole Joan of Arc thing going and that’s admirable. But truth is, you lost the case but you still got a good deal out of it. And trust me, you wouldn’t have gotten this from any other law firm in this city.”

The worst part of it is that Harvey has a point and that he’s right. Of course, Mike won’t admit that. So he lets him eat in silence for a bit while Mike sips his coffee. 

“I looked you up, you know?” Mike says then, still not sure if he should go on.

“Did you now?” Harvey sits down next to him as he finishes his lunch. 

“Before you started here, you worked for the DA’s office.”

“That is correct.” There’s something odd in Harvey’s tone now. 

“Why did you go from being a public servant to corporate law?”

Harvey shrugs. “Because some of those public servants served nothing but their own pockets.” He balls up the paper his bagel came in. “You want to hear the whole story? The one that didn’t make the newspaper article you googled up?”

“The one with the awful pictures? Yeah.”

“And just for that you’re getting the long and boring version.” Harvey makes an attempt to toss the paper into the trash can across from them but misses by a hair’s breadth. “I actually started here. In the mail-room. Jessica-”

“Pearson?”

“Don’t interrupt. And yes. She plucked me right from the mail-room and offered to pay for Harvard. But after I finished, instead of coming to work for the firm right away, she felt that I could use trial experience. So I worked as an Assistant District Attorney for two years before going to back to Pearson Hardman.”

Mike watches him from the corner of his eye. The sincerity in Harvey’s account is surprisingly refreshing. 

“Why did you quit?”

Harvey’s shoulder twitches up in a half-shrug. “Well, for one thing, it was only meant to be temporary anyway . I owed Jessica and going back to the firm was my way of paying her back. And second… the guy I thought was my mentor… he worked more for himself than for the state. Bribes, collusion, evidence that got lost or tampered with... So I made a decision.”

Mike looks at him. He could push but feels like he shouldn’t. Harvey doesn’t strike him as the kind of guy who shares a lot so cutting in now might, well, cut off that streak. 

“I decided what kind of attorney I want to be.”

“You became a corporate lawyer instead,” Mike states.

“Well, I do like to win.” Harvey gives him the tiniest bit of a wink. “I know this goes against your little Robin Hood fantasy but instead of thinking what I wanted to be doing, I started thinking about who I want to be doing it with. And Jessica’s family. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her.”

“So I actually should be mad at her, then.”

Harvey scoffs, his words almost getting lost against the rim of his coffee cup. “I wish…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Harvey quickly shakes his head. “But speaking of mad… how’s your mystery man doing?”

Mike frowns at that. That took a turn he has neither expected nor really appreciates. “Why are you so curious about that?”

“Because I am for once done talking about myself and I was there when it didn’t happen, so…”

The odd thing is… Mike wants to talk about it. Maybe not to Harvey but he can’t really be a chooser about it either. Whoever he tells about this, Oliver included, he gets judgement for it. At least Harvey is going to honest about his. 

“Well, he apologized for standing me up.”

“Took him long enough.”

Mike smiles wryly. “Yeah. He never really did say why, though. Just said that he’s working on a project that needs… tweaking.” He does air quotes again. 

“Tweaking? That’s the word he used? Tweaking?”

It’s actually a relief that Harvey laughs at that because Mike still hasn’t figured out how he feels about it and that reaction helps.

“That’s what he said.”

“Maybe he’s married.”

“He’s not… no.” A trickle of doubt enters Mike’s bloodstream.

“Have you asked him?”

“No, I haven’t. But he’s… not the kind of guy who would… it never came up but I don’t think he is.”

“You should ask him. Maybe that’s the project of his that needs tweaking.” This time Harvey does the air quotes. “Maybe he has a wife he needs to get rid of. Or husband.”

“You know what? That’s why I don’t want to talk about this. Because I don’t need you to talk me out of this.”

A beat passes. A beat in which Harvey looks at him with one eyebrow quirked, barely fighting back a grin. 

“Okay, I’m going to ask him. In fact, I’m going to ask him right now.” Mike reaches for his phone and types up the message. Once he’s sent it, it shows it to Harvey. “There, you happy now?”

Harvey glances at the display, then breaks into a full grin. “ _50nyc_? That’s his name?”

“So?”

“What does it stand for? Is he 50? Are you into sugar daddies?”

“Will you shut up? Maybe it’s his address, I don’t know.”

Harvey makes a face. “That’s awfully prosaic.”

“I really can’t believe I’m talking to you about this. Why am I doing this?”

“It’s my charm.”

Mike snorts a little laugh. “Right. _He_ is charming.” He points at the screen. “You… not so much.”

“Thank you. You’re so sweet.”

“Well, fuck you, too.”

Harvey sobers a little. “Can I see them? Your pictures?”

“Why?”

“Because, believe it or not, I’m interested.”

Mike mulls over that for a moment, then hands over the phone. “But don’t…”

“Relax, I’m not going to write him.”

Mike lets him scroll through his profile, lets him draw up a few pictures one by one before switching over to view them in consecutive order. For some reason, it makes him antsy, watching Harvey look at his shots. He can’t really say why. 

He isn’t nervous when he’s posting them, when he doesn’t know who sees them or what people think of them. But sitting here, seeing Harvey’s brow go up in admiration, makes his insides flutter a little. This kind of immediate feedback is new to him but it’s not entirely unwelcome. 

“These are amazing, Mike. And I’m saying this as the guy who wouldn’t be able to see the beauty in them anyway.”

Heat rises into Mike’s cheeks and he can’t look at Harvey for a moment. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. For the most part, you’re actually right. But...” 

Harvey starts to fiddle with Mike’s phone who tries to reach for it, suddenly very alarmed. “What are you…”

“Relax. I’m calling myself so that I have your number. When I’m back at my office, I’m going to text you the contact of a curator I know.”

“Is she hot?”

“She is married.”

“So?”

Harvey hands the phone back. “I’m not sleeping with married women.”

“Is that your moral code?” Mike checks his phone. Harvey has indeed just dialed another number.

“It’s too big of a pain in the ass.” He finishes the last of his coffee, then gets up to toss the cup. “Anyway… I gotta go back.”

“Me, too.”

Harvey looks at him with the oddest expression and Mike fight the urge to look away. 

“Why are you doing this?” He holds up the phone. 

“Because I think your pictures need to be seen. And not just on a 7 inch screen of somebody’s phone. She can help you with that. She owes me one.”

“What did you do?”

Another full fledged grin. “I broke up her marriage.”

Why Mike decides to take a picture just now is beyond him. It’s a reflex rather than a conscious decision and he doesn’t even check the result before he stashes the phone back into his pocket. 

“Use a filter on that. I look hot in black and white.”


	11. Chapter 11

Mike’s life with Rachel fits into a cardboard box at the bottom of his closet. It’s sad, really. Pathetic, even. A few pieces of clothing, a novelty mug and a few random bits and pieces that had migrated over to her place over the course of nearly three years. 

They had been through a lot together. They had gone from being mildly annoyed by each other’s sass to mutual attraction to Mike hesitating to commit to becoming a couple. And yet somehow their relationship had never gotten that final push. They had never talked about fully moving in together or even starting a family. Somehow it had never been issue, especially since Rachel was just now getting her career off the ground it hadn’t seemed very practical. 

They had been happy together and still… something had been missing. The proverbial spark. 

_[50nyc] I am not married._

The ping of his phone tears Mike from his revery.

_[50nyc] How can you even assume that?_

Mike had actually forgotten having sent that message two days ago. He has been so busy with his new case, picking up his stuff and curating his photos in case he would actually be able to muster up the courage to get in contact with Lauren Pearl.

_[brooklyn81] I didn’t. A “friend” made me ask._

_[50nyc] Some friend._

Mike has to grin at that. 

_[brooklyn81] Ain’t that the truth. I’m not even sure I should even call him a friend. It’s that guy from work I told you about._

_[50nyc] The one that made your life a misery?_

_[brooklyn81] The very one. We seem to be stalking each other workwise lately._

_[50nyc] Should I make it look like an accident? I know a guy…_

[brooklyn81] Tempting but I’ll take a raincheck for now. I actually can’t believe I’m saying this but… he’s actually not that terrible. I mean, he can be a dick when he wants to be - which seems to be most of the time - but we got to talk a few times and he actually seemed like a person then. You know what I mean?

There’s no reply for a while and Mike wonders if he’s said something wrong. 

_[50nyc] Should I anticipate a happy announcement any time soon?_

_[brooklyn81] I wouldn’t go that far._

_[50nyc] Why does he make you ask me if I’m married?_

Good question. 

_[brooklyn81] Well, he was there when you and me didn’t meet. I guess he’s just curious._

_[50nyc] Aren’t you?_

Mike doesn’t really know what to say to that so he writes the first thing that comes to his mind.

_[brooklyn81] Honestly, I don’t know. I guess not._   
_[brooklyn81] I guess if you were, you’d have told me. I don’t think you’re the guy who cheats._

Mike doesn’t notice he’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth until he taste a little blood.

_[50nyc] You’re right, I’m not._   
_[50nyc] Which is why I’m glad you broke up with your girlfriend. I don’t want to be the “other guy”._

There’s a miniscule pause in the communication. Or at least Mike imagines there to be.

_[50nyc] No matter how much I want to be with the other person._

Something in Mike's nape prickles and he runs a hand over the very spot but the sensation doesn't go away. Instead it spreads down his spine before it settles comfortably in the pit of his stomach.

He doesn't know what to say. Should he say something at all?

The question gets answered when his phone beeps again.

_[50nyc] I loved your latest picture by the way. That's somewhere downtown, right?_

Mike clears his throat. He doesn't need to speak out loud, of course, but he still feels the need to get rid of that lump in his throat before typing his answer.

_[brooklyn81] Yeah, we had coffee from a cart there._

_[50nyc] Should I be jealous?_

_[brooklyn81] Maybe... The coffee was a bit stale, though._

Mike isn't sure why he's downplaying it - the coffee had been really good - but it does feel nice to think there's someone out there being a little jealous. Even if his ever so slowly blossoming friendship with Harvey is nothing to be jealous about.

_[brooklyn81] Can I run something by you?_

_[50nyc] Anything!_

_[brooklyn81] He - the guy - gave me the number of a curator and said to give her a call._

_[50nyc] Do it!_

_[brooklyn81] I don't know. I mean you keep telling me my pictures are good. And I got the follower count to prove it but... There's loads of people out there who take pictures that are just as good._

_[50nyc] So?_

_[brooklyn81] I don't think it's for me._   
_[brooklyn81] What am I even supposed to say?_

_[50nyc] You won't need to worry about it if you don't call her_.

Mike groans in frustration and tosses his phone on the clutter of files that covers his coffee table.

He gets up and gets himself a beer from the fridge. There's something about that last message that rubs him wrong.

He's never responded well to passive-aggressiveness, it always makes him go all defiant and that never works out in his favor. It's even worse when it comes from people he cares about.

_[50nyc] You're scared to call her because she might actually say yes._

Mike snorts.

_[brooklyn81] Why would I be scared of that?_

_[50nyc] Did I ever tell you why I set up this account?_

_[brooklyn81] I think we both know the answer to that question._

[50nyc] I did it as a favor for someone close to me. I was never something that I wanted to do because I actually don’t like this form of communication. But I get why people do it. Because it’s easy. Because it’s safe. Because you can put yourself out there without really doing so. Because there’s a username and a profile to hide behind. No matter what you do, nothing is ever really personal.  
[50nyc] So you post your pictures - which, yes, are amazing - but it’s not as immediate as having them in a gallery. You’d have a real audience with real reactions and real feedback. Suddenly it’s personal. And that’s scary.

Mike reads those messages. Then he reads them again. He types up the first things that comes to his mind.

_[brooklyn81] You sound just like him._

_[50nyc] Then we’re both right._   
_[50nyc] Look, I get that you’re… worried. But what do you have to lose? If she says no, no harm done. If she says yes, that’s amazing and you can be proud of yourself._

_[brooklyn81] I fucking hate when people are always right._

 

*

_[brooklyn81] You sound just like him._

That's what schizophrenia must feel like. Harvey is sure of it.

He's nursing his second whiskey, trying not to let the slight buzz show in his messages.

When he's read Mike's line, he had almost spilt his drink. Has he given himself away? Has Mike figured it out?

He has never written in anything other than his own voice, has never masked anything (other than his true identity but that's beside the point) and at the same time, in the chat he's not the Harvey who Mike knows in real life. 

Harvey runs a hand over his face. What he is doing is crazy. Downright insane. 

Mike’s messages sure had given him hope. He considered Harvey something close to a friend. That was progress. But was it progress enough to tell him that he was the one who had - unbeknownst - kept him in New York? 

He knows he has to end this. And soon. He can’t keep this charade up for very much longer. For one, it’s exhausting, trying to hide his true self behind his not-quite-himself internet persona. Second, it’s not fair to Mike to fool him twice over. And three… he wants to be with Mike. In real life. 

The problem is just that he isn’t sure if Mike is ready yet. He doesn’t even know if he himself is ready. 

 

*

Lauren Pearl is a beautiful woman and she becomes even more beautiful when she smiles. 

“You must be Mike,” she says in greeting, reaching out a hand as Mike approaches her. 

“Must be, yes,” he replies, trying to match her smile. 

They’ve met in a coffee shop just off Kent Avenue, a vast space with a duo of plush old leather couches in the middle, one of which Lauren has already occupied. 

“Harvey has told me a lot about you.” She gestures to offer Mike a seat but he hesitates. 

“I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be a good thing.”

Her brows go up with a knowing look. “For once, it is. Please do sit.” She motions for him again and at last Mike sits down next to her. 

“What exactly did he tell you?” Mike asks suspiciously. 

“That you’re a… and I might be paraphrasing… wanna be lawyer by day, Diane Arbus by night.”

Mike eyes her. “You did not paraphrase that, did you?”

“I’m afraid not.” Lauren shrugs apologetically. “But seriously. He told me you’re a photographer.”

The corner of Mike’s mouth ticks up in a smile. “Well, that’s probably to big a word. I do take pictures but just with my phone and I only post them on Instagram.” A little beat passes between them. “Look, I know you’re just doing Harvey a favour by meeting with me and… indulging me but…”

“Are you always this suspicious?”

“For the most part, yes.”

Lauren reaches into her bag and produces a folder. It contains a portfolio. “My agency is actually looking for people just like you. We are about to put together a show of local artists, most of them are actually Brooklyn based.”

Mike flips absently through the glossy dossier. “What do you mean by ‘people like me’?”

“People we’d like like to call new medium artists. People like you who take whatever medium they have on hand, in your case your phone, and turn it into art. We’re already in contact with a few more Instagram users, graphic artists and sculptor. Through their art we want to explore New York in a more modern way than what we usually do. Get a fresh view of the city if you wish.”

Mike contemplates that for a bit. “And you think I could be one of those artists?”

“Well, I’ll be honest with you. If it hadn’t been for Harvey’s nudge in the right direction, we might not have come across your profile. But once I saw your pictures I knew that I had to have you on this show.”

Heat rises into Mike’s cheeks as she continues. 

“You have a unique eye, Mike. A great attention to details. And you’re giving us a fresh view of the city. So if you’re interested at all, I’d like to talk terms with you.”

“Can I get a coffee first?”

“Only if you get me one, too?”

Mike rises and approaches the barista. He places his order and while he wait for the drinks being prepared, he digs out his phone and pulls up his messages. 

_[Mike Ross] You’re insane._

He doesn’t need to wait long for an answer.

_[Harvey Specter] I clearly must be when I’m talking to someone so eloquent._

_[Mike Ross] I don’t even want to know what you said to Lauren._

_[Harvey Specter] Is it working?_

_[Mike Ross] I think it might._

_[Harvey Specter] Good!_   
_[Harvey Specter] Go get her!_

Mike can’t help the grin as he stashes his phone again. The barista hands him the coffees and he takes them back to the couch. Lauren has already taken out another folder and a tablet.

She beams at him as he sits down again. “So, are you ready to talk business?"

They talk for about an hour, going over the terms of a possible contract, about the exhibition Lauren is planning. They go through Mike’s collection of pictures on her tablet and she takes notes on which images she thinks would fit with their concept. 

They are on their second coffee - which is spectacular, by the way - when Lauren puts her notebook aside, giving him a bit of once-over.

“What?” Mike asks, slightly taken aback by the break in the conversation.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Mike motions for her to go one while he sets down his cup. 

“How does a guy like you end up with a guy like Harvey?”

Mike is glad he’s put his drink down. Otherwise he probably would have either dropped it or done a not quite as flattering spit take. “Excuse me?”

Lauren clamps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I thought that you were together… Oh this is embarrassing.”

“You thought we…” Mike clears his throat. “I can assure you, we’re not.”

“I’m... really sorry. I just assumed that by the way he was talking about you that you were his…”

“I am definitely not his… we’re colleagues, so to speak. We were opposing counsels on a case and have been running into each other ever since. It’s more of a… push comes to shove kind of thing.” Absently, Mike sticks his hand into his pocket, itching to pull out his phone. “I’m… actually seeing someone else.”

“Then just pretend I never said anything. I guess it was just my… history with Harvey that lead to that assumption. I’m… I’m never going to live this down, am I?” 

“Well, you might if you let me ask you a personal question. Then we call it even.”

Lauren straightens. “Go ahead.”

“Harvey told me how broke up your marriage. What happened?”

She blushes even more. “It’s true, he did. But not in the way you might think. We met at a gala a couple of years back. We flirted, a lot, had a few drinks… and then he put me in a cab and sent me home. Unfortunately my husband at the time assumed that I had an affair with Harvey and confronted him about it in open court.”

“He sued Harvey?”

“No, he was a judge on one of Harvey’s cases and tried to blackmail him. Anyway… even though this made-up affair got me a lot more attention from my husband, it made me realize that it just wasn’t going to work anymore. So I filed for a divorce.”

“And then you had an affair with Harvey.” Mike doesn’t make it a question on purpose. 

“We slept together. Once. And now I’m remarried.” She holds up her hand, showing off a sinfully expensive looking diamond ring. 

“Well, congratulations.”

“Thank you. And again, I’m really sorry for jumping to that conclusion.”

“It’s alright.” 

The truth is that it isn’t quite alright. It is even a bit disturbing. Not so much that Lauren made the assumption but that Harvey gave her the opportunity to do so in the first place. What could he have possibly said that gave her the impression they were a couple when they couldn’t be further from the truth?

“So what do you say?” She tears him out of his revery. “Are we in business?”

Mike doesn’t answer right away just for the drama of it. 

“Yes, we are in business.”


	12. Chapter 12

"Is it bad luck or can I say congratulations?"

Mike tugs his phone between his ear and shoulder as he goes over his brief with a red pen.

"How did you know?"

Harvey huffs a little chuckle on the other end. "I know everything."

" _I_ know everything," Mike corrects.

"Alright, John Nash. Lauren called me."

"You really are the Godfather, aren't you?" Finally Mike gives up his paperwork.

"I am. But I have better hair."

"That is true." Something fuzzy flares up inside Mike at the words. "Anyway, I think a little congrats doesn't hurt."

"Congrats, then."

"Thank you. Now all I have to do is pick which pictures I want drawn up. Which is actually harder than I thought."

"If you need help..."

Mike hesitates. "I already have help."

"Your imaginary boyfriend?"

A grin tugs at Mike's lips. "Are you jealous?"

"Maybe."

"Thanks for the offer, Harvey. You've already done enough."

"Well, you know where to find me."

"Don't I ever."

"See you, Mike."

"Yeah."

Along with the fuzz, there's irritation settling into Mike's insides.

What is he doing? Is he flirting? With Harvey?

No, he can surely chalk this off into the "banter" category, some harmless quips exchanged between... friends. There's that word again. Are they friends?

Somewhere in his mind that assumption is even more wild than Lauren Pearl thinking he and Harvey were a couple. 

For the past couple of days Mike has managed to ignore that bit of their conversation but now it comes crawling back from its ugly hiding hole. What had Harvey said about him? How had he said it? How the fuck had he made the impression that they were more than business acquaintances?

_[brooklyn81] I need your help._

It's more a distraction from his current train of thought than anything else. Mike has also never been so happy to have Oliver come over to discuss a brief he's pulled up.

Anything - even something as boring as a messed up stock option - is better than that thinking about Harvey might...

_[50nyc] Anything!_

Mike doesn't find time to reply until about an hour later.

_[brooklyn81] You remember that curator I told you about? She wants my pictures for an exhibition._

_[50nyc] That's amazing. And well deserved._

_[brooklyn81] Thank you._

_[50nyc] What do you need my help with?_

_[brooklyn81] I need to select some of my photos and I can't make up my mind about it._

_[50nyc] And where do I come in?_

_[brooklyn81] Playing coy doesn't suit you._

_[50nyc] Force of habit._

_[brooklyn81] Which ones are your favorites?_

_[50nyc] Which ones aren't?_  
_[50nyc] Seriously, though... I'd love to help. Do you want me to send you a list?_

_[brooklyn81] The links are fine. Just DM them to me._

_[50nyc] Will do._

_[brooklyn81] Thank you! It means a lot._

As a reply, Mike gets the picture of DUMBO he’s taken a couple of weeks ago.

_[brooklyn81] You’re so predictable._

_[50nyc] You don’t know half of it._

Mike contemplates his next message. He doesn’t really have the time to get into this right now but while they are it…

_[brooklyn81] How is your project coming along, by the way? The one that needs… tweaking._

For a few moments, there is no answer and Mike fears he’s pushed too hard this time.

_[50nyc] I’m making progress on it. I don’t want to jinx it but I think I’m on a good way._

_[brooklyn81] Good. So I won’t make a fool out of myself when I ask you if you’ll make it to my show._

Anxiously, Mike stares at his phone. He is fully aware that he’s already making a fool out of himself by fretting over this but he can’t help it. 

_[50nyc] I can’t make promises but I will try!_

Mike tries to ignore the slight sting of disappointment. Somehow he knows he should have expected this but at the same time he’d been hoping for a different answer.

_[brooklyn81] I take that._

Even with the winking emoji it feels like a lie.

 

*

A week goes by until Lauren texts him the date for the exhibition.

He has three weeks to put together the pictures he wants to show. A total of twelve. Which puts him in front of the almost impossible decision to choose from the 283 photos on his account.

_50nyc_ is only of little help because he sends Mike about four dozen images. It's flattering, really, but it doesn't make this any easier.

So Mike puts up a post asking the rest of his followed to comment with their top 3. The amount of feedback is unnervingly staggering.

As his deadline draws near and Mike is nowhere near a reasonable pre-selection, he goes to a nearby drugstore and has the fifty most popular choices blown up to letter size. It's easier to rifle through actual paper than scroll or click through a photo stream. And it gives him a better idea of what his images look like outside of phone and which ones might not live up to the required quality after all.

Two days before he has to send his choices to Lauren so she can finalize his contribution to the show, he is still pondering over the print-outs strewn across his coffee table.

_[Harvey Specter] Hey Pulitzer, how's your show coming along?_

For a moment, Mike is irritated by the message.

_[Mike Ross] Let me guess… Lauren told you?_

_[Harvey Specter] Obviously not you._  
_[Harvey Specter] Were I a lesser man, I'd be disappointed._

_[Mike Ross] Good thing you're not._

_[Harvey Specter] Damn right._

_[Mike Ross] It's going okay._

_[Harvey Specter] Can you at least to try fake enthusiasm?_

_[Mike Ross] Not right now. I can't make up my mind about which pictures I want to have up._

A few minutes go by until his phone rings.

"If you want, I can give you my totally neutral, no idea of beauty opinion," Harvey says without preamble.

"I'm never living that down, am I?"

“Probably not.” There’s a pause at the other end of the line. “Do you want to come over?”

Now it’s Mike’s turn to hesitate. Why the hell is he even considering it? “Yeah, why not.”

“I’ll text you the address. Or do you want me to send you a car? All the way out to Brooklyn?”

“Thank you but I’ll take my bike. I could be there in an hour.”

Harvey lets out an indelicate snort. “You’re out of your mind.”

“If you send a car over, it’ll take just as long. Just give me address and I’ll see you then.”

Even while still on the phone Mike has already started collecting his print-outs into a folder.

 

*

 

Mike makes it over to Manhattan in a little more than half an hour. Only part is due to light traffic.

He is about to chain his bike to a lamp post when the concierge of Harvey's building steps outside.

"You can take it inside, Sir. I'll keep an eye out."

Mike eyes him surprised. "Thanks." He wheels the bike through the door and leaves it in a short hallway behind that concierge's desk.

"Mr. Specter is expecting you." The man gestures to the bank of elevators. "Top floor."

Mike thanks him again then follows the directions given. He can count off on one hand when he's ever been to an apartment building that had a concierge. If anything he visits people who need a security guard.

He takes the elevator up, fidgeting with the strap of his messenger bag. Is he nervous? Why would he be nervous? It's probably just the adrenaline of the ride. Yeah, that has to be it.

Harvey opens even before Mike has the chance to knock. "Did you fly?"

"Twice, almost. One was a curb, the other a delivery van running a red light." Mike gives him a nonchalant shrug.

Something flickers over Harvey's face. "Next time, I will send you a car."

"How about we start by you letting me in?"

Harvey steps aside without a word.

Another beat passes before Mike finally steps across the threshold. As he does, his eyes skirt over Harvey.

He has dressed down for the evening and with the grey henley over a white t-shirt there's a softer edge to his frame that makes him even more attractive than usual.

When Mike catches his own gaze lingering, he quickly clears his throat, looking anywhere but at Harvey.

"You look like you could use a beer," Harvey says with an amused smile.

"Don't mind if I do."

Harvey pushes past him and around the corner into the kitchen area.

"What is it with you and your bike?" He asks when he hands Mike a bottle of lager. "You must be able to afford a car. Or at least a rental."

"Probably." Mike takes a sip. "But I can't drive."

"How come?"

Mike hesitates. "My parents died in a car accident when I was eleven."

Harvey's expression falters. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't..."

Mike waves a hand in a vague gesture that says 'it's alright', 'not your fault' and 'I don't want to talk about it' all at once.

"There's no way I can make a good recovery from this, right?" Harvey tries, a touch of color on his cheeks.

"Probably not." Mike takes a sip from his beer, already feeling a slight buzz. "You can offer me food, though. Food's good."

"Sushi okay? I had already ordered before I called you."

"That's food?"

Harvey gives him a grin, obviously relieved they've steered away from their previous topic.

"Go wash your hands, lippy. Delivery should be here any minute." He gestures at a door branching off from the hallway.

Mike hands back his drink and heads for the guest bathroom. It as - just as what he's already seen of the condo - luxurious to the letter. It's not overdone, just very modern and sleek and looks like it's not actually meant for visitors.

He does wash his hands and towels them off, trying to ignore his flushed reflection in the mirror. He isn't sure where that's coming from: the exhaustion, the alcohol on an empty stomach, that awkward stumble down memory lane or something else entirely.

Just as he's about to step out of the bathroom, the doorbell indicates the arrival of their food. Mike takes the moment to stall, trying to get a grip on his confusion.

When he does come out of his hiding, Harvey has set up the take-away trays on the coffee table between the sofa and armchairs. Mike's stomach gives an approving grumble.

Before taking the seat Harvey has designated for him in one of the chairs, Mike takes a look around.

The place is... even if they don't know each other very well it's safe to say it's very Harvey. All smooth lines and sleek surfaces but with a touch of cosyness. It is a bachelor pad for sure but so much more high-end than the little towel-sized hole in the wall Mike calls his own. And it offers a breathtaking view over Manhattan.

"Nice place," Mike finally says rather lamely.

"Thanks."

"Certainly lacking a panda."

"Obviously."

"I was promised food," Mike says quickly before they're heading straight forward another sad-story-shaped pothole.

"Please." Harvey gestures for him to sit. "Beer still good?"

"Yeah, thanks."

Mike has never been too much of a fan of fancy food. One of the (probably many) things Rachel had in the "con"-column when passing judgement on their relationship.

"Well, what do you like?" Harvey asks and Mike realizes he's apparently voiced his thoughts out loud.

"I don't know. I mean I do like good food. I just don't need anything that comes with a manual."

"So no lobsters or oysters. Got it." Harvey flashes him a grin.

“Well, I did like the lobster rolls up in Boston.”

“So that you did do in Boston.”

“Fuck you.” Mike pops a sushi roll into his mouth, grinning around it.

Harvey toasts him with his drink, then reaches for his own chopsticks.

They continue to eat. The ingredients Mike can't identify Harvey explains to him (once with the help of the menu because who the hell knows what they wrap up in algae these days). It's never condescending or chiding but playful and light. They talk about this and that, nothing deep or personal but no trivial small talk either.

It reminds Mike of the first time they met at John's bar, playing pool and chatting. He tries to ignore the pang of defeat that memory comes with.

"So your gentleman caller wasn't any help?" Harvey asks suddenly, wiping his hands on a napkin.

"Too much help. Turns out he's just as indecisive as I am."

"Or you're just that good."

"Yeah, or that," Mike replies sarcastically.

"Well, Lauren Pearl doesn't just ask anyone to be part of her exhibitions."

Mike eyes him dubiously. "You didn't pay her, did you?"

"I could have," Harvey admits with a shrug. "If I did that sort of thing. All I did was give her a nudge in the right direction. The rest is all you."

Heat prickles on Mike's cheeks. He tries not to think back on what Lauren had said, that she had assumed he and Harvey were together. How could she possibly...

He steals a glance at Harvey down the length of his bottle. Harvey, who just plucks a leave of cilantro - or is it parsley - off the little pile of ginger before picking up a slice with his chopsticks.

Mike can't read him, can't find a way past that teflon exterior.

"It's rude to stare."

Mike almost chokes on his beer. "What?"

"So are you going to show me your pictures or are you just freeloading?"

"As if I could make a dent in your savings."

Harvey gestures vaguely in agreement.

Wiping his hands, Mike pulls the manila folder from his bag and tosses it on the table. "Knock yourself out."

More anxious than he would have expected Mike watches him go through the pile of print-outs. 

And as Harvey does, something about him changes. It’s nothing major, just a small shift that’s barely noticeable but Mike does pick up on. He emerges himself in images and doesn’t speak for almost ten minutes, every once in a while putting one of the photos aside. He places them face down next to him so Mike can’t see which ones he’s chosen which doesn’t help his anxiety at all.

“You’re making me nervous on purpose, aren’t you?” Mike finally says. 

Harvey doesn’t even look up. “If this makes you nervous, the show might not be a good idea after all.” 

Mike knows Harvey’s just pushing his buttons but it still manages to annoy the fuck out of him. “Don’t make me regret my top speed ride over.”

Another few minutes go by before Harvey hands him a stack of about fifteen images. “If it were up to me, I’d take those.”

Mike looks through the selection; most of the shots are around Chelsea, a few of lower Manhattan and the rest is of Brooklyn, the one of DUMBO the very last Mike flips to.

There’s an odd sensation prickling down Mike’s nape and he clears his throat before speaking. “Thanks. I still gotta throw out a couple of them but…”

“But that last one is special, isn’t it?”

The sensation intensifies by about ten times. “Kinda.”

“So... is he going to show up this time?” There’s something odd in Harvey’s expression when Mike looks at him. 

“Even if he was, I wouldn’t tell you?”

“Why? Are you afraid I’m going to steal him from you?”

Mike wants to say ‘yes’ but he bites it back.

“Relax. If he’s as into you as you’re into him, I won’t stand a chance anyway.”

Mike shrugs. “He better be. Otherwise I may have passed up a life in California for nothing.”

Harvey’s eyebrow goes up. “Your girl… ex-girlfriend?”

“Yeah, I mean…” Mike’s mouth goes a little dry so he reaches for his beer. “I didn’t actually break up with her because of him, things had been… complicated for a while but… I guess he was the reason I didn’t fight for it.” He takes a long pull from his drink. “So he better be worth it.”

“Sounds like the bar’s been set pretty high.” Harvey gets up to clear the table. “You want another beer?”

“Sure. And no, it’s really not. I mean, all of this could just be a fantasy, right? I might just…”

“Don’t do that,” Harvey interrupts him. “Don’t see yourself short.” He turns his back on Mike as he carries the trays over to the kitchen. “You’re probably not going to believe me when I say it but you’re a great guy, Mike. You’re smart and you’re talented. And I’m sure this guy knows that, too. Of course this whole Instagram thing is pathetic and standing you up was a dick move but... I don’t think it’s a fantasy.”

Mike looks at him but only faces Harvey’s shirt-clad back and the somewhat stiff set of his shoulders. Something in the tone of Harvey’s voice won’t sit right with Mike but he can’t quite figure out what it is. 

“Is that your application as my wingman?” he asks after a moment.

“I thought I already was?” When Harvey turns around, the lightness is back in his tone and he hands Mike another beer. 

“The things you do to get to an open bar.”

“You got me there. So when is your show again?”

“You know it’s on Thursday.”

Harvey clinks his bottle against Mike’s and sits down again. “To Thursday.”


End file.
